


Red Who?

by PsychoVigilante



Category: Batman - Fandom, DC Comics
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Blood and Gore, Dark, Extremely Dubious Consent, F/M, Robin!Reader - Freeform, Villain!Jason
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-20
Updated: 2019-06-27
Packaged: 2019-08-26 14:16:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 9
Words: 46,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16683190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PsychoVigilante/pseuds/PsychoVigilante
Summary: Deciding that you would never hurt anyone like your parents did, you feel guilty for betraying Bruce and your principles for being attracted to the mysterious villain Red Hood.After cheating death, Jason comes back to discover that Bruce had replaced him with a girl only three months after his death. He vows to seek revenge on Bruce by corrupting the seemingly innocent and naive girl.





	1. Bath Salts

**Author's Note:**

> Before we proceed, I would like to warn readers that this is going to be a dark fic. There will be scenes in which gore, trauma, mental illness, and non-consensual sexual advances are described in detail. Please don’t expect this Jason to be someone to look up to, to worship, to applaud. This Jason is a villain. This fic will potentially break the boundaries of what is acceptable and what isn’t.
> 
> I do not condone nor justify the criminal actions Jason will display in later chapters.

Hate. 

Hate was a strong word, usually associated with anger. Hate sometimes is fueled by anger, or vice versa. 

Jason wasn’t sure which he felt. 

He hated the psychos that ran the streets of Gotham. But he knew he was also labeled as one of them. 

In fact, he was the psycho that the psychos were afraid of. 

But what made Jason so fucking angry was that despite the fact that he tortured and killed, those psychos still didn’t fear him as much as they feared Batman. 

Why? 

Jason never understood why. Everyone knew The Bat never killed, which was one of the main issues.

His hate was fueled by anger.

Or was it the other way around? 

Was he angry at Bruce, and the anger was fueled by hate? 

_Who the fuck cares_ , Jason thought. 

All he knew was that he never wanted to associate with Batman again. 

He forgave him at first. He never blamed Bruce for his own death. He knew he was being reckless, he knew it was his own fault. He wanted to go back to Bruce and tell him that it’s okay he didn’t get there in time, that he understood. 

That it wasn’t Bruce’s fault. 

But he didn’t expect Bruce to let _him_ live. 

When he found out, he nearly pulled out all of his hair. How could he have let that madman live after taking Jason away from him? 

Didn’t Bruce love him enough? Wasn’t Bruce angry, distraught?

That was the first fuel to the fire. 

And then he saw _you_.

Your uniform was different from his. It suited your feminine figure more. Your sleeves were longer, you had armored gloves and an armored breastplate made out of kevlar. 

But despite the modifications, he still saw the unmistakable R sign, shining on your left breast. 

The picture of you he was holding crumpled in his fist, and sent Jason into an episode of pure, unadulterated rage.

He screamed and screamed until his voice was nothing but a croak. 

His eyes were dry- he felt like he could and would never let out a single tear ever again. 

He investigated you.

Your parents were wealthy scientists, always impressing the community with new technology and medicine. 

The police report Jason read had said that your parents were also conducting human experiments. Kidnapping the homeless, they basically tortured them to madness.

The police were in the process of getting a warrant for their arrests when they mysteriously fell from the balcony of their mansion and broke their necks. 

The report had said that your father was abusing your mother. To defend herself, she pushed him off the balcony, but in the panic of the moment he had gripped your mother to save himself, in the end pulling her down with him. 

Leaving you an orphan. They left none of their wealth to you. 

He almost felt pity for you until he found out that this had happened only three months after his death, and Bruce had adopted you almost immediately, making you Robin after a year and a half. 

He hated you.

He had never felt so much pain in his two lives, including his appointment with the Joker and Mr. Crowbar. 

Were you that special that Bruce adopted you right after Jason died? Were you better than him? 

Did Bruce love you more than he loved Jason?

The frenzy Jason was in felt torturous. 

He felt like he was drowning. The heartbreak was too much. He couldn't breathe at one point. He wished he never came back alive. 

He wished he had stayed in the casket. 

Anything would have been better than what he felt. 

He’d gladly take the crowbar again. 

After streams of cuss words, broken furniture, and bleeding knuckles, Jason finally realised that Bruce never loved him.

It wasn’t the matter of “How dare he replace me?” but “Who shall be his next child soldier?”

He disowned Bruce, yet he didn’t realise that his love for his adoptive father was what made him so angry in the first place. 

He decided to get his revenge. 

Killing Bruce was too easy. Batman relied on reputation, the fear he had instilled in others. Jason was going to take that away from him.

He wanted to be the reason why Batman puts down his cowl. 

But first, he was going to show Bruce what he did to him, by _ruining_ you, and taking you away from him.

He wore the red symbol on his chest as a mockery to what The Bat stood for. He was Batman’s greatest failure. 

Batman often spoke about justice. 

This was Jason’s justice. 

And Jason’s justice was red. 

****

You wanted to complain about how the bullets of raindrops and cold wind made your bones ache, but you kept quiet. Your parents told you that complaining would make you ungrateful. Despite their monstrosities, they had a point. 

Unlike you, the thousands of homeless people in Gotham didn’t have the comforting thought of going back home to a warm, dry bed and a butler who was ready to serve you hot cocoa. 

You took a deep breath and sucked it up. 

Hidden in the shadows, you and Batman were overlooking two alleys from a ledge of a higher building. Crime Alley was quiet that night. 

The rain must have been keeping the bad guys away. You smirked to yourself. You found it funny that all it took was a heavy downpour to keep Gotham at peace. 

You supposed that bad people wouldn’t want to get wet either.

A loud metallic clang came from below. 

Both you and Batman snapped your heads in the direction of the sound. 

Expecting the worst, your shoulders relaxed when you saw that it was just an old lady in loose dirty clothes who accidentally bumped into the dumpster. 

She yelped at the own shock of the sound, and then decided to sit next to it, crouching to warm herself up. 

You immediately felt a wave of guilt wash over you, almost making you nauseated. 

You looked at Batman with pursed lips. 

He simply nodded. 

With that, you jumped down from the ledge and grappled to the lower building, and to the end of the alley. 

Careful not to scare the woman, you approached her slowly. 

That close to her, you could see how her face cracked with fine lines that could have been wrinkles but also could have been scars. Her silver hair was darkened by the water, sticking to her cheeks. 

“Ma’am?” you let out a soft voice. It went unheard, drowned by the sound of the rain pounding into the tar ground. 

“Ma’am?” you said a little louder. Her bloodshot eyes snapped at you, wild and frenzied. 

You clipped off your cape and handed it to her. She needed it more than you, and you had more spares at home. 

Even if you didn’t, your adoptive father was a billionaire. 

The old woman eyed the cape suspiciously and reached out a hand to take it from you. 

But instead of grabbing the cape and thanking you, she reached for your arm and yanked it towards her, causing you to lurch forward. 

“Your father always said you were a whore,” she rasped in your face, sending you a waft of reeking breath. 

She spit on you, and then started laughing hysterically, revealing her blackened teeth.

It made you shiver more than the cold. 

You took a step back, taking your cape with you and just stared at her, shocked at what she had said. 

“Bath salts,” you heard a deep voice next to you. 

“She called me a whore,” you spoke solemnly, still staring at the deranged old woman, still feeling sorry for her. 

“Delusion and hallucination is a side effect,” Batman replied, “I’ll make sure she’s safe. Go home, you have school tomorrow.”

With a final glance at her, you nodded and grappled your way back to your red and gold motorcycle parked next to the Batmobile. You drove it when Bruce set a curfew on your patrols so you could return early for school the next day. 

The helmet you put on saved your face from the assault of the rain. Blinking away the remaining droplets of water that clinged onto your eyelashes, you started the engine.

The soft purr of your beloved bike coming to life warmed you. 

_Your father always said you were a whore._

The words rang in your ears as you zoomed past the neon lights of the bars, splashing water onto the curb. 

Coincidentally, your father did always say you would be a whore unless you listened to every word he said. 

Don’t speak out of turn. 

Don’t dress provocatively. 

Always blush in front of boys. 

If you cry, you were an attention seeker. 

Always be a lady, or else no one would want to marry you because you were ugly. 

If anything were to happen to you, it was because you didn’t act like how you should have, so you would deserve what was coming to you. 

_Remember, no one likes whores._

Your mother kept on reminding you. 

Up until twelve years old, you had to endure their control over you. 

Even when Bruce adopted you after they died, you kept to their rules. You were already trained from young to be cautious of your own behaviour. 

It was hard to break from the person they shaped you to be. 

You would actually have been grateful if they only wanted what was best for you. But, no. They made you who you were- a proper _lady_ \- to impress their rich friends enough to marry you off to their horrible sons. 

Despite the gloves, your fingers were frozen shut over the handles of your bike. You wanted to get back quick, but decided against driving over the speed limit.

The combination of grime and water on the road would be dangerously slippery. You didn’t want to get into any unnecessary accidents. 

You usually avoided thinking about your past, shoving it aside whenever it tried to resurface. But that woman had flicked on a switch in you. 

You acted like a prim and proper princess on the outside, but deep down you wanted so bad to break out of it. 

Robin was a way for you to be rough and crude. The mask you put on ironically revealed your inner personality. 

Yet you were scared to cross the line of what would be considered improper. You knew you had an affinity towards violence and the tabooed. But you kept yourself in check. 

You didn’t want to fall for darkness. 

You didn’t want to be like your parents. 

An irrational fear of your parents genes expressing themselves through you in the form of sadism, and what you would argue as pure psychopathy, haunted your thoughts. 

The memories of your broken past consumed you. You hardly noticed when you reached the Cave. 

“Welcome back, Miss Wayne,” Alfred greeted you with a warm towel as you climbed off your bike, “No injuries?”

“No, Alfred, it was a slow night.”

“Good, that is good,” he let out a sigh of relief. The butler was usually on the comms, feeding information to the both of you. He knew of your vitals, yet he still asked every night if you were injured after you came back. 

Alfred may have known everything that happened during patrols, but like every parent with their child, it was instinct for him to protect and comfort. He was like that to Bruce, he was like that to Dick, and he was like that to you. 

It probably wasn’t the late nights and physical exertion that would be his end. It probably would be the worry. 

You tried not to think about that. 

The Cave had a locker for changing and showering. You peeled off your drenched uniform, wondering that if Bruce could make it anti-tear and bulletproof, why couldn’t he have made it waterproof too. 

You turned on the shower, sighing in the heat as it washed off the sweat and grime and the cold. 

Drying yourself off with the fluffy warm towel, you couldn’t help but feel bad about all those people shivering in the rain that night. 

That could have been you if Bruce hadn’t adopted you. 

You went to your room, and didn’t sleep very soundly.


	2. Like A Tarantino Film

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for violence and gore.

There was still joy in Gotham. 

It was seldom seen, but it was there. The faces that you passed by everyday were pale, sunken, eyes almost lifeless. Sometimes when you walked around the city, you felt like you were seeing in black and white. 

The people of Gotham were tough. They had to be, so they raised their defenses and built walls around themselves. You wouldn’t see a stranger smile at you in passing. 

But sometimes you see color. 

During Valentine’s Day, a couple or two would be inside a nice, warm restaurant smiling at their significant other. Or during Christmas, where some families would eat out and laugh over dinner. 

But the places where you see the most innocent and pure form of joy would be the playgrounds. The children would run around and laugh, not a care in the world. Untainted by the gloom of Gotham. 

Your parents had robbed that innocence from you. 

You couldn’t remember if you ever experienced a time where you were able to be carefree. You were always on guard with them, reading their moods to see if they would feed you dinner that night. 

They pressured you to perform. You could read and write at only 2. At 4, you were already being tutored daily, which prevented you from playing around. You felt like your whole life wasn’t even yours. 

But because of that, you had a knack for the academics. 

The discipline your parents had instilled in you helped you become the top student at Gotham Academy- where you were at that very instant. 

Sighing to yourself, you doodled in your notebook, bored of paying attention. Chances were that you already knew what the aging bald man in front was talking about. 

School for you always were extremely draggy. You just went for attendance. Bruce offered to homeschool you, but you wanted a taste of what it was like to have a normal life. You didn’t have that when you were with your parents, and you couldn’t have that as Robin. 

School was your escape. 

You had some friends. Well, more acquaintances rather than friends. You had the tendency to keep people you didn’t trust just within arms length. You had learned from young not to trust anyone. 

The only ones you trusted were your current family. 

You didn’t even trust yourself. 

That was the one thing you could never do. 

Nevertheless, school allowed you to have a semblance of a normal life. 

The bell rang shrill in your ears, marking the end of the school day. It was time for you to put on another mask, the one you show your peers. 

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath before opening them again. Like a mask you slip on, you were instantly the girl your parents would have wanted you to be. You waved at your classmates, disarming them with your charming smile. 

You were similar to Bruce in that sense. The mask he wore fooled millions, and the only exceptions were the ones he _chooses_ not to fool. You used to idolise him for that. You still do, amongst other things. 

With perfect posture and pace in walking, you head to the swimming pool locker room and changed into a black one piece.

As captain of the swim team, you had to make sure your form was consistently accurate, and you would time yourself every day, making sure to never slow down. 

After an hour and a half, you went back, and studied. Bruce would call you down in two hours for patrol. 

That was your day. School, swim, study- sometimes at the library or a cafe, and then patrol. You would put training in with Bruce from time to time. The loop you were in made you have a little more control in your life. You hardly broke your schedule.

It was what your parents taught you. 

Although now that you were exposed to crime and investigations, you realised that keeping a schedule was too predictable. It would be extremely easy for someone to stalk you and learn your day to day habits from the moment you stepped outside the Manor’s gates and then back in. 

You’ve had stalkers before. From paparazzi to your admirers, you were quite popular since you inherited the Wayne name- an attempt to erase your link to your parents and their atrocities. It worked well. The kids in your school had already forgotten about your upbringing. 

You weren’t really afraid of being stalked. You could take care of yourself. 

Besides, you were at your last year of high school, why would you have an unpredictable schedule? 

As you were writing your notes on rare genetic diseases- a topic that interested you greatly since your encounter with Killer Croc- you heard a soft knock on the door. 

“Miss Wayne,” you heard Alfred’s muffled voice from behind the wooden door of your room, “Master Bruce will be getting ready for patrol soon, if you are interested in joining him tonight.” 

“I’ll be down in a minute, Alfred,” you called back, “Thank you.”

Bruce gave you a choice long ago, and even then you were allowed to revisit that choice. You could join him in his war against crime, or you could live a normal life. The nights when you chose to join him greatly outnumbered the ones when you didn’t- usually when you were having exams or a big project. 

He kept the training consistent, though. You had to be at your best performance at all times. 

Your footsteps echoed as you descended into the cave behind the grandfather’s clock. Bruce was on the massive computer with a setup of buttons and knobs that spanned almost as long as a ping-pong table. He was already fully dressed in his Batsuit, save his cowl, which was resting on said table. 

He gave you a mere nod of acknowledgement when you walked passed him to the locker rooms in the corner of the cave. 

Putting on the tights was the most annoying part, something you had figured out when you first became Robin, 3 years ago- after two years of training with Bruce. 

The best part about the uniform? Your body looked amazing in it. The tightness that was to help you with your mobility had accentuate your curves. The kevlar armored breastplate lifted your tits (and protected your vitals). 

Even after many years, you couldn’t help but admire yourself in the mirror every time you wore it. You put up your hair so it wouldn’t get in the way, and for the finishing touch, smacked on some lip gloss. 

The helmet you wore prevented the wind from stinging your eyes as you whizzed next to the Batmobile, the distant sound of your cape flapping about behind you gave you an idea of how wild your hair would have been if you took the helmet off. 

“Robin,” you heard Batman’s voice from the inside of your helmet, “There’s been a 911 call coming from The Stacked Deck. Gunshots heard. Any ideas?” 

“Stacked Deck? The one in Otisburg District?” you questioned. Batman usually quizzed you during times like this to train your investigative and deductive skills. 

“Affirmative,” he confirmed.

“Must be a gang shootout then,” you guessed. The Stacked Deck was a nightclub where most of the underground kingpins did their affairs. Most clubs were usually gang owned, and the turf wars would come into play when another gang violates their turf boundaries. 

But The Stacked Deck was known to be a safe haven for gangs, a place that didn't fall under any territory. There was an unspoken truce between all the gangs in Gotham that the club would remain neutral grounds for business purposes or pleasure. A gang shootout in the club was possible, but unlikely. 

“The club is owned by Charon Path,” Batman reminded you, “Who takes the club rules very seriously.”

Indeed, Charon Path was a rich and powerful businessman. He conducts only necessary businesses with gangs, but still separates himself from them. The last time the head of the Dimitrov family broke the club rules by shooting a Maroni member, Charon had his men hunt both gangs down and took each one of their daughters, and sent the respective families different parts of their bodies until lastly, their heads.

Since then, the club has been relatively peaceful. 

“Maybe a newcomer gang?” you tried. 

“You’re limiting yourself to gangs,” he lectured, “There are other types of criminals in this world that do not solely break the law for money.”

Bruce’s voice was clear in the state of the art helmet despite the fact that you were going 60 miles on a 35 limit.

“A terrorist attack?” you attempted again. 

“Or just for fun,” he said darkly. 

*** 

The metallic smell of blood was so strong, it even penetrated his helmet faintly. 

“A-are you crazy?” the man grovelling on the floor stuttered. Covered in blood that wasn’t his own, he looked at Jason with evident fear in his eyes. 

This one was one of Falcone’s. Wario? Luigi? One of those Nintendo clowns. 

Jason merely grunted. His position was relaxed, leaning against the bar counter, which was littered with broken glass and spilled drinks. The sling of his AK-47 across his shoulder hung as a present threat. 

That, and the 5-foot robotic dog he had the controls for on his side. A nice steal from the Dixon Docks the night before.

 _Where is he?_

“This club is owned by Path!” he continued, “We’re all doomed.”

Still not saying a word, Jason reached inside the black duffel bag he placed on the bar, and brought out something heavy. 

He tossed Charon Path’s head onto the floor. It had rolled to Falcone’s son, greeting his eyes with Path’s dead and cloudy ones. 

“I-Impossible,” he gasped, “H-how?”

“What do you want with us?” another voice from across the near empty room yelled. Jason had let most of the clubgoers he wasn’t interested out already. 

“You’ve already got what you came for, right?” he braved. He was bigger than the first man, and older. He was a Moehler, the German crime family famous for drug and weapons smuggling. 

“And what is it that I came for Mr Moehler?” Jason finally spoke, his voice scrambled by the device in his helmet. 

“The Ibenescus’,” Moehler’s eyes darted to the four bloodied bodies on the floor. Jason had the robot dog he named Jacob maul them to death. The stench of their ripped guts was making the 9 other men he had let live vomit. Like large slithering snakes, their intestines had spilled all over the dance floor, leaking a dark green fluid that mixed with the blood. 

“But I didn’t come for the Ibenescus’, Mr Moehler,” Jason drawled, “I came for you. All of you. To tell you that The Stacked Deck is now under my territory, and all of you now belong to me.”

“Fuck you!” the first man cried.

“Mario!” hushed a third. 

“Ah, Mario, that’s it,” Jason recalled his name, “I understand that you’re emotional right now, Mario, but please don’t interrupt daddy when he’s talking.”

“Now,” Jason continued, “I will allow all of you to leave this building safe and sound if you pledge yourself to me. Meaning, I get forty percent of profits from each of your operations- but I have ground rules. No dealing to kids, no human trafficking, and no animals involved. Except the ones like Jacob Black here,” he nodded to the robot dog next to him, “Any questions?”

“What if we refuse?” someone had voiced. 

“Refuse and you end up like either Path or your Romanian friends right there,” he gestured to the four bodies, “The Ibanescus really _really_ liked women, didn’t they? I advise you not to do the same. Any objections?”

The club remained quiet. Jason walked slowly over to tower over Mario Falcone. 

_He’s running late._

“And how about you, Smash Bro?” he sniggered, “Any objections?”

“N-no,” he bowed his head to the floor to avoid contact with the white eyes of the shiny red helmet. 

“Fan-fucking-tastic,” Jason celebrated, “I will visit each of you for my share whenever I feel like it. Now leave.”

_Any time now._

“Who are you?” Moehler asked in a quiet voice. 

“Was wondering when you were gonna ask,” Jason turned to him, “I’m Red Hoo- Ah. I see you’re finally here. Was wondering when you would arrive.”

Jason had placed silent motion sensors throughout the club that would trigger an alarm in his helmet when activated. 

As if on cue, Batman emerged from above and came flying down to attack him. Jason easily evaded his attempt to take him down and stood across the room.

Jason felt something boiling in him when he saw the caped crusader, followed by you behind him. It was his first time seeing you in the flesh. He felt a pang in his chest, a feeling that he had become all too familiar with. 

But despite the storm inside him, he didn’t want to let any of it show.

“Red Who?” you snarkily said to him. 

Fuck. Your voice made him want to rip your throat out. 

“Red Hood, baby,” Jason raised his assault rifle in your direction. “So Batman, who’s the new toy?”

“Enough games,” Batman growled, “Put the gun down, and we’ll take you in quietly.”

“But B-man, I never go quietly,” Jason challenged, “You out of all people should know.”

Batman made a move to take Jason down, but all Jason had to do was whistle, and from his side, the robot dog tackled Batman to the ground. Jason made a point to change the controls from ‘Kill’ to ‘Distract’. 

He gave Batman less than a minute to deal with the dog. 

Now, he turned his attention to you, who was already in a flying kick position in the air towards him. 

He grabbed your ankle and used your momentum to spin you into the glass tables behind him. You quickly got up despite the crash, and immediately tried to take him again. 

Jason acknowledged your skills, but you were nowhere as good as he was. He grabbed you by the neck and flung you against the wall, where you slid down to the floor, hazy due to the impact. 

At this point, he could hardly control the rage. 

He grabbed you by the neck again and held you up against the wall, squeezing the breath out of you. 

“Why you?” he growled, “What makes you so special, huh?”

Were you better than he was? Were you smarter? Did he love you more? Was Jason so incompetent? Did Bruce hate him that much?

You gasped and choke for air, clawing at his arm, kicking at his shins weakly. 

“Does he _use_ you? Is that it?” Jason didn’t know why he conjured that thought in his head. He knew Bruce would never. Yet, he was still disgusted. 

Up close, he noticed how young you actually were. How smooth your skin was, how silky your hair. Your mouth, opening and closing silently like a fish out of water- were you wearing fucking lipgloss? 

And his Robin suit you had defiled and mutilated to suit yourself- it made your tits look so good. He forced the idea out of his head. You were wearing _his_ colours. 

But the colour you were slowly turning into was purple, and Jason decided to loosen his grip around your neck.

He hated you. So much. He wanted to make you suffer for replacing him. He wanted to make Bruce suffer over you. 

But at the same time he wanted you. 

“Robin!” he heard Batman’s voice from behind him, but the dog was still occupying him. 

“It’s time for me to go. You’ll definitely see me again, sweetheart,” he whispered in your ear, and let you go before escaping through the kitchens. 

*** 

“Robin,” you heard Batman’s voice in the distant. Your head was spinning. You were still gasping for breath. 

You raised a shaky arm and pointed at the direction where Red Hood ran to, “That way.”

“I need to know that you’re okay first,” he ordered. 

“I’m fine,” you managed to choke, “Go. I’ll talk to Gordon.”

The sirens were right outside the club, you knew the GCPD had only just arrived. 

Batman disappeared behind the kitchen doors. 

You sat there for a moment to recollect your thoughts. What had Red Hood meant when he asked you those things? 

You stood up and calmed yourself down before surveying the room. 

It was a horrible mess. Something out of the scenes of a Tarantino movie. There was blood on the dance floor, and smeared in footprints everywhere else. There were splatters on the walls, and the stench- you gagged. 

It smelt like blood and shit and vomit. 

“Jesus,” Gordon came through the doors, “What the hell happened here?”

“Someone called the Red Hood,” you croaked, walking towards the Commissioner, “Ever heard of him?”

“The gang?” he lit his cigarette. 

“No,” you held your breath. The stench was really getting to you. “A man. I think he means to take control of the other gangs. He had an arsenal with him and what we saw in his bag. Semi-autos, grenades, handguns, and a-”

“And a Transformer,” Gordon pointed to the heap of metal lying on the ground. Bruce probably stuck an EMP on it.

“Yeah. He’s strong too,” you winced as you were reminded of the ache around your neck, and started massaging it. You had been Robin for 3 years already, and training with Bruce an additional 2 years before that. Not many people could rough you up the way he did. He was almost as good as Dick. 

“You okay, kid?” Gordon asked, eyeing your neck.

“I’m fine,” you dismissed, “Anyway, he wears a red helmet, and has a red bat on his chest. Around six foot two, and maybe two hundred pounds.” 

“Red bat on his chest?” Gordon’s greying eyebrows shot up, “Is he-”

“He’s not one of ours,” you interrupted him. 

He eyed you suspiciously. 

“Batman went after him. I should go,” you announced. 

“Sure, kid,” he took a drag of his cigarette, “This is going to be one hell of a cleanup.” 

You snatched it from his mouth and threw it on the ground. 

“Bad for your health, Commissioner,” you scolded him. 

“You remind me of my daughter,” he chuckled. 

“She must be smart too, then,” you waved at him as you walked out the back door.


	3. A Need For Waterproof Makeup

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason stalks you to get more information about you. 
> 
> You meet a mysterious yet sexy man in the library.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Just to tell you beforehand, I've written some parts in Jason's point of view, so it'll be a lot of internal monologue since he doesn't really interact with anyone much.

Gotham’s air was thick and heavy. 

The smoke and soot from the cars and busses and factories didn’t allow the air Gothamites breathed to be fresh. The parks were the only places where one might get a whiff of clean air. 

Even then it was unlikely, as the parks were just small sections, surrounded by the bustle of the polluted city.

It was a good thing that it rained a lot in Gotham. Just like grime being washed away from the alley floors, you found the air lighter after the rain picked up the soot particles and washed it away. 

You sucked in the heavy, cold night air. 

Even the dank alley smelt better than inside the club. 

You thought of those bodies and their entrails untangled and scattered all over the floor- all the shit and the stomach acids and the bile that made it stink so much. That Red Hood must be one of those psychopaths. 

The ones like Zsasz, or Pyg. The ones who have no reason behind their motives but their own perverse compulsions.

Yet, you felt like there was more to him than just pure crazy.

Your eyes adjusted to the darkness, the only source of light was the dim street light hardly doing its job. You relied on the lenses on your mask to observe your surroundings. 

The alley was empty, save two stray cats fighting in the trash cans. 

Batman must have chased him far, but you weren’t too worried. Knowing Batman, he would be able to catch anyone, unless they had a trick up their sleeves. 

But that Red Hood seemed like just the kind of person to have a trick or two. Thinking about his strong fingers wrapped around your throat made you shudder. It had been a while since your last close call. 

You pressed the button on the communicator in your ear.

“Batman?” you called out to the dark. 

You waited for a minute, no reply. 

“Batman?” you tried again. 

“Robin,” he finally replied, “What’s the situation?”

“I’ve already told Gordon all that we know. How about your end?” you questioned anxiously. 

“Meet me back at the cave,” he simply said, an obvious dismissal. 

You let out a sigh of frustration. Working with your adoptive father wasn’t easy, but you had learned to trust his decisions whenever he decided to withhold certain information from you. You head to your bike a few blocks away. 

The Batmobile you parked beside was gone, assuming Batman must have taken it to chase Red Hood down- which meant that Red Hood fled in a vehicle as well. 

The engine purred when you started it. 

_What makes you so special, huh?_

What on Earth did he mean by that? 

You were doubting your earlier guess. Perhaps ‘crazy’ was indeed an accurate way to describe Red Hood after all.

Your drive back was slower than usual. There were more cars on the streets then as compared to the night before. Maybe because it wasn’t raining like a motherfucker. 

Reaching the cave, you hopped off your bike and immediately greeted Bruce and Alfred, who were both occupied by something on the computer. 

“So I assume you didn’t get to catch him?” you commented, which earned you a glare from Bruce who had taken his cowl off. 

“Alfred, please check on her,” Bruce instructed. 

You took a step back reflexively when Alfred made to move. 

“I’m fine,” you insisted, “It wasn’t that bad.”

“Check for a concussion,” he ignored you. 

“If I had a concussion I wouldn’t be able to drive back here,” you rolled your eyes, but let Alfred check you up anyway. 

“You’re late,” Bruce pointed out. 

“There were more cars on the road,” you argued back. 

“Do you feel dizzy?” Alfred asked, flashing light into your eye. 

“No.”

“Nauseated?”

“No.”

“All seems fine, sir, although those bruises might raise a few questions,” Alfred gestured to your neck, pocketing his penlight. 

You hadn’t had the opportunity to look in the mirror yet. Judging by how sore your throat and neck were, you wouldn’t be surprised if your whole neck region was blue black. 

“I can cover it with makeup,” you assured him, before turning back to Bruce, “Well?”

He was either occupied with the computer or pretending to be, because you had to wait a few seconds for an answer. 

“He slipped away,” he finally began, “Skilled at evading capture. He’s got good equipment as well. I suspect the helmet has heat signature detection, as well as night vision. Clearly has experience with martial arts. The chase was on foot for the larger part, until I lost him- I decided to call the batmobile to my location and search the area, to no avail.”

Bruce usually had one expression on his face- brows furrowed, lips downturned and tight- which made him hard to read at a glance. But, just like Dick and Alfred, after being with him for so long, you started figuring out tiny quirks that gave him away. 

As of right now you could tell that he was frustrated. He was frowning just slightly more, and his lips were pursed tighter than ever. 

“What do you think he wants?” you inquired. 

“Judging from what we saw, to dominate the underground,” he replied. 

You paused before asking the question you’ve had the whole time, “Have you met him before? Do you know who he is?” 

“I have not met Red Hood before,” Bruce confirmed, although he was a split second slower to respond this time.

“He seemed to think that the two of you were long lost buddies,” you pressed. 

“I don’t know the man under the mask, so I couldn’t say,” he voiced, “Yet.”

“Well, he said something to me,” you disclosed, “Something around the lines of ‘Who are you?’ and ‘What makes you so special?’. I don’t know what the hell he was talking about. He could just be crazy.”

“Red Hood is not crazy,” Bruce suddenly defended, “He is analytical, manipulative, and most important of all, sane. He has logical motives and complete control over his actions- which makes him dangerous.” 

“Then why would he say all those things?” you persisted. 

“I don’t know yet.”

“And ‘new toy’? I’ve been Robin for what, three years now?” you pondered again, “Maybe he was someone you met when you were with… Him.”

The topic of Jason Todd was still tabooed in the Wayne house. Every time it came up, Bruce’s face turned dark, as if a shadow just appeared to swallow him whole. Dick told you what happened, and how much it affected Bruce. 

You saw glimpses of it too. The anger, the mourning, the self blame that Bruce went through, since he took you in just a few months after Todd had died.

You weren’t surprised, since his grief played a role when it came to what happened to your parents. 

Sometimes, you felt like he adopted you just to replace the kid he lost. 

You made it a point to not ask too much from Bruce, but went to Dick instead about it. Even then, you hardly knew what he looked like- besides a few pictures around the Manor and the ones in the database, and how he was as a person, because you saw how much it pained Dick to talk about it as well.

But since that person almost strangled you to death earlier, you felt like you had the right to know. 

“Perhaps,” Bruce finally broke the silence, albeit anticlimactically. 

“Okay, so all we need to do is to go back to the files and see who you’ve come across before that you hadn’t again in the last three years,” you concluded. 

Bruce was still grim since you mentioned Jason Todd, but his expression changed in an instant, ever so slightly. 

“Listen to me,” he got up and walked towards you, keeping intense eye contact, “Do not, under any circumstances, engage him alone. If he said those things to you, then he must be targeting you. Do you understand?” 

“Yes,” you answered, “But why would he target me?”

“You’re closest to me,” he explained grimly, “Targeting you would be the easiest way to get to me. He means to take over the underworld, and I’m in his way.”

*** 

It was a nice base, given the fact that it was basically a shipping container. 

Jason was quite proud of it. Two armored shipping containers stacked on top of another on a storage lot he bought, he made it his home. His residences was on the upper floor, comprised of a bed, a kitchen complete with a running refrigerator and gas stove, a bathroom, and a sofa. It had sewage access and electricity. The bottom floor was where he kept his vehicles. 

Sure, it wasn’t _fancy_ , but the essentials were there. He even had windows, and matching bed sheets and pillow covers. 

Jason never knew he had a knack for interior decorating, but he was looking forward to add more to his new home once he settled in for real.

He thought of even buying a goddamn tea set, just for the fuck of it. 

Peeling his layers of clothes and armor off, he collapsed on the bed and stared at the ceiling. 

What had happened? 

His plan went well, better than he thought it would have. He didn’t even need to do plan B. 

But he felt… Off. 

He meant to distract Batman and test you out by himself, if only a little while. He got all the assessments he wanted. He knew how you fought- you were as good as he was when he was Robin. He actually broke a sweat. 

Of course, training with the League had improved him greatly, and the fall in the Pit gave him peak human performance, so it was an unfair comparison. 

Yet he was still unsatisfied, like there was an annoying bug buzzing around his head. 

There was something about you that irked him. He couldn’t get you out of his head, and in a bad way. Every time your face resurfaced in his memories, wearing _his_ colours, _his_ symbol- it made him feel even more immense hatred and anger. 

But it also made him curious. He felt like he wanted to know more about you, like some weird creep obsessed with you. He sighed in frustration. 

All he wanted to do was to hurt you. He wanted to squeeze your throat until you turned purple, just like before. He wanted to make you _beg_ first, though. Right in front of Bruce. 

He decided to get to know you more. Maybe that would help him formulate the perfect revenge plan. 

He got up and went to the neatly organized stack of papers on his desk and found your documents. He opened your file and saw a picture of you smiling charmingly back at him. He resisted punching a hole in the wall. 

Flipping through your papers, he saw that you went to Gotham Academy. Of _course_ you fucking did. That’s where Bruce sent Dick, and that was where Bruce sent him too. He supposed that you were meant to be his little sister, the third adopted Wayne kid living Bruce’s legacy.

He wondered if people compared you to him, like how people compared him to Dick. But a bitter feeling in his stomach told him that everyone else had already forgotten about him. 

*** 

Even though the reasons were completely the opposite, he still felt like a creep lurking around on high school grounds wearing a baseball cap and sunglasses. Behind the tree he was leaning against, he saw you get out of Alfred’s car and walked to the entrance of the Academy. 

You were completely different than what he saw the night before. 

You looked almost timid, your posture erect and straight like a ballerina. Hell, even the way you fucking _walked_ was graceful, which was accentuated by the flowy plaid skirt of your uniform. All traces of your relaxed yet tough stance he saw last night was gone. 

Something about the innocent school girl look you carried so well attracted him. He saw you nod and smile widely, bedazzling your peers as they waved back at you. 

He snorted. You must have learned to charm your way through everything from Bruce. That annoying bug in his head returned. 

He stared at your back when you entered the school’s front doors, the ache in his chest barely subsiding. The school bells rang, and he waited there until you came out again. 

Before the last bell rang, he noticed that Alfred wasn’t there yet, waiting in his car drinking tea and reading the newspaper. Alfred always came early when he picked Jason up from the Academy. 

But even when the other kids came out, he didn’t see you. 

Of fucking _course_ you were the type who would probably stay back for extracurricular activities. 

He decided to walk in the old, almost castle-like school. He remembered the halls as clear as day, the sense of nostalgia and memories of his innocence haunting him like a looming figure. The stone halls were long, and on one side of the walls were pictures of clubs, students, classes and their achievements. 

He passed by the faces- some familiar, like Dick Grayson’s plastered on the board amongst the other Homecoming Kings of previous years. One news cutout caught Jason’s eye- a picture of you and three other girls wearing grey swimsuits, holding up a trophy. 

The headline said: Wayne’s Team Dives Another Swim-pressive Relay! 

Ah, you were the captain of the girl’s swim team. They didn’t have a swim team when he was around. He didn’t even know they had a pool. 

“Uhm, excuse me,” Jason froze when heard a small voice squeaked behind him. 

He turned around and saw a nervous girl with a small frame, her long hair up in a high ponytail, wearing the school uniform. 

“Can- can I help you?” she anxiously tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear, “You’re not a student here, right? Are you looking for someone?”

Ah, she was just trying to help. Although he didn’t get why anyone would approach him with good intentions. Even with his cap and sunglasses on, he knew there were small scars that littered his face, making him look unapproachable. 

“I’m actually looking for my sister. I’ve been waiting for her for fifteen minutes, and she’s not answering her phone. I think she mentioned being at the pool?” Jason lied, switching his personality to that of a _normal_ person, whatever that even meant. 

“Oh! It’s at the new building at the east end, by the new school gym. Do you want me to take you there?” the girl said with hopeful eyes. 

“That’s okay, I can find my way. Thanks, doll,” he flashed her a charming smile, or he hoped it was. 

He had been practicing his smiles and expressions in the mirror so he could act _normal_ whenever he needed to. It ended up with the mirror shattered across the floor. 

But his smile seemed to work, because the girl ended up blushing. A positive reaction, Jason thought. He could probably use this against you in the future. 

He gave her a nod, and then head to the indoor swimming pool. 

He half expected you to not be there, since it would be a coincidence that he just _happened_ to find your picture on the bulletin board, and you just _happened_ to be at the pool. After all, it was just based on assumptions. You could be anywhere else. The fucking Manor had a swimming pool. 

But there was someone in the pool when he entered, in the middle of doing their breaststroke. He couldn’t quite tell who it was, since they were wearing a swimming cap and goggles, and their body was submerged in water the whole time. 

Jason decided to slip underneath the bleachers, like the fucking creep he was, and waited until the person ended their lap. 

When they finally got out of the pool and removed their cap and goggles, Jason saw that it was indeed you. But what he hadn’t expect was how fucking _incredible_ he thought you looked. 

The swimsuit was stuck to you like second skin, it was black, and the one that wasn’t a bikini. He wasn’t sure what they were called, but it looked like a leotard. The view he had of you was from the side, so he could properly see the beautiful arch of your back. 

You were just sitting by the edge of the pool then, your legs submerged in the water. Your wet hair hung around your face and your eyes were closed as you took a deep breath. Jason hadn’t realised that his mouth was slightly open when he looked at how your breasts heaved as you breathed, the water dripping down and down your cleavage, making your skin fucking _glisten_. 

Fuck. 

_Fuck_. 

He could see bruises on your neck, the bruises he left the night before. Evidence that he had put his hands on you. The water must have washed off the makeup you used to cover it, because he didn’t see any marks on you earlier. He wanted to leave more marks on you, but the ones he made with his mouth instead of his hands. 

He was definitely hard. Hard and fuming with rage. 

Rage at himself. What was he fucking doing? He was acting like a teenager, spouting a boner whilst looking at a girl in a decent bathing suit. 

It was your fault. He saw you earlier in your cute little blazer and tie, holding books and walking with your head high- an innocent goody-two-shoes. So why did you suddenly have to be so fucking sexy at the same time? The paradoxical qualities you had drove him crazy. 

Suddenly, something in his brain clicked. He could work with this. It was stupid of him to deny his obvious physical attraction to you. Hell, he knew how much he wanted to fuck your brains out- as if his body wasn’t being obvious about it already. 

He wanted to fucking _corrupt_ you, _defile_ you to make you just like him. He smirked to himself almost like a villain when he thought about how heartbroken Bruce would be. His precious little princess snatched from right under his nose- at her own volition. 

*** 

It was time for you to study your actual school syllabus rather than your own research interests. 

Sighing silently to yourself, you opened your textbook and flipped to the page where your syllabus for the next term would be taught. You glanced around the old library, where there were more college students from Gotham University rather than high schoolers like yourself. 

You loved the smell of the library, a mix of wood and parchment. The high ceilings alleviated any sense of claustrophobia you would usually feel in a crowded cafe, and the sunlight pouring from the tall arched Victorian style windows countered the aura of stress in the library. 

It had a nice temperature, where you sat. You were slightly cold due to just being in the pool for a couple of hours, and your hair was still drying. You checked your reflection on your phone, making sure you covered your bruises properly. 

You really needed to get waterproof makeup. You’ll ask Bruce for his credit card later. 

The library usually gave you a sense of serenity, but all of that was absent that day. Instead, you felt a bit restless, like something was wrong. Like the dreadful feeling before a hurricane. 

You felt like you were being watched. If so, you didn’t know by whom. Bruce had definitely trained you to know when you were being stalked, so you were confident with your skills. 

You quickly dismissed it as paranoia. 

After about an hour with your earphones in, you noticed a movement in your peripheral vision. Jumping ever so slightly, you glanced up from your book to meet a pair of bright blue eyes. They belonged to a man who was obviously trying to get your attention, shuffling his feet nervously as he approached you. 

You took out an earphone and looked at him questioningly. 

“Hi, uh, sorry,” he whispered loud enough for you to hear, “Do you know where the Crimes and Investigations section is? I tried asking the librarian, but I think she hates me.”

He stopped in front of your wooden desk, slouching slightly to your level. Your breath hitched. Up close, you saw that his eyes were a pale icy blue, and it reminded you somehow of a lone glacier floating in the arctic sea. His jaw was angular and squarish, his cheekbones high- all in all chiseled like he was carved from stone. 

“Yeah, it’s in the west wing, I think,” you whispered back at him, offering a friendly smile. You noticed his cropped dark raven hair was slightly messy. It was the first time you imagined yourself running your fingers through someone’s hair. 

“Uh,” he hesitated, “What wing are we at exactly?”

He looked clueless, and anxious, and so damn adorable- despite his obvious athletic and bulky build that you could see even beneath a loose faded red hoodie. 

“We’re actually at the centre court, but, uh, I can show you where it is, if you’d like?” you blushed. A reaction that you didn’t expect coming from yourself. 

A look of relief washed over his face, making him grin and show his perfect white teeth, “That’d be really great.”

You tucked your semi-wet hair behind your ear and got up from your chair. 

“Is it really okay to leave your stuff here?” he asked, coming closer next to you. You were an average height, and he was at least a foot taller than you. 

“There’s one thing in Gotham that criminals don’t steal, and that’s books,” you gave him a flirty wink, “Come on, I’ll show you.”

You led the way towards the other side of the large library, heading towards the tall bookshelves that lined neatly like domino bricks. You could _smell_ him next to you. A musky cologne, mixed with… Leather, and something so familiar but you couldn’t quite tell. 

“Why do you think Mrs. Jenkins hate you?” you giggled lightly. Since when did a guy make you giggle?

“I don’t know,” he pouted, “She gave me the stink eye and said something about reading the signs.”

You thought that was weird. Mrs Jenkins was a sweet old lady who loved pink cardigans and kittens, and would help anyone with a thirst for knowledge. 

“She must be in a bad mood,” you concluded, “She’s not usually like that.”

“Old people tend to hate me,” he let out a nervous laugh, ruffling the hair at the back of his head, “They think I look like a thug.”

You looked to your side and gave him a glance over. The word that came to your head wasn’t ‘thug’, it was ‘sexy’. You couldn’t say that out loud. 

“Maybe it’s because you’re so big,” you joked. 

“Are you calling me fat?”

“No!” you quickly denied, “I mean, your body and all that. You’re tall, and, um, muscly.” 

You blushed again. 

“Thanks? I think?” he chuckled. 

“Anyway, you have any book you’re looking for?” you enquired. 

“Not particularly,” he began, “I’m thinking of trying to join the police department, and I know I gotta pass the law enforcement exam, but I just wanna do some extra reading about criminal cases and such. Maybe some criminal psychology stuff?”

His voice was deep yet smooth like butter. You could listen to him talk all day. 

“That sounds great!” you beamed, “My older brother works in the police force over at Bludhaven! I can ask him for some tips to pass the entrance exam, if you’d like.”

You slowed down as you approached the section, walking in between two bookshelves now. There weren’t many people in that area, and the sunlight didn’t quite reach it as well. But you could see his expression change. He looked a bit disturbed. 

But as soon as you noticed it, he was normal again, smiling slightly. 

“That’s nice,” he responded, “How many siblings do you have?”

“Oh, just one older brother,” you answered. 

You thought you saw his jaw clench for a moment. 

“He must be overprotective of his younger sister,” he guessed. 

“How’d you know?” you amused him. 

“Coz if I had a younger sister as cute as you, I’d lock her up so no guy can touch her,” he winked, all signs of nervousness before gone. 

You felt your face heat up at the compliment and your stomach did a flip. 

“Uhm, thank- thank you,” you stuttered, “Uh, well, this is the Crimes and Investigations section. You’re obviously new here, so you can, uh, join me at my table if you plan on doing your reading here.”

God, it was like you couldn’t get yourself together because of him. The charming and cool girl mask you put on for everyone else was slipping off. He somehow had such an effect on you. 

“Yeah, I’d like that,” he grinned. 

“Well, then, I’ll leave you to your browsing,” you flustered, “I’ll be at my desk.” 

Before you could wait for an answer, you dashed off quickly, trying hard to contain the giddiness that bubbled inside you. 

He joined you at the seat directly opposite yours after fifteen minutes with a book in hand. 

“The Disturbing World of the Psychopaths Among Us,” you read the title out loud, “You’re interested in psychopaths?” 

“Aren’t you?” he asked excitedly, “They’re so interesting.” 

The thought of the crime scene from the club resurfaced in your mind. You had to remind yourself that he was still a normal citizen, and probably hasn’t seen what a psychopath could do. 

“They are,” you agreed wholeheartedly, “It contributes greatly to the nurture versus nature debate. Are people inherently bad or does the environment shape them to be like that? If we could diagnose psychopathy at an early age, do we incapacitate those children before they do harm? Can we even help them if they were born with it?” 

“Wow, you seem to know your stuff,” he pointed out. 

“My brother is a cop,” you rolled your eyes. You thought about the criminals you faced almost every night a lot. You had to. 

He just smiled at you softly, and you took it as a cue to continue your work while he read his book. 

An hour in and you realised you couldn’t stop glancing at the beautiful man sitting in front of you. He seemed relaxed, leaning on the back of his chair, flipping through pages and occasionally ran his fingers through his hair when it fell too close to his eyes. 

After observing him, you noticed little scars on his skin, and that his nose looked a bit crooked- like it had been broken and reset too many times. You thought that gave him a more interesting look, rather than a boring and plain handsome face. You wondered what sort of fights or accidents he got into. 

“Am I distracting you?” he suddenly spoke up, sparing you just a quick glance. 

You snapped out of your dreamy look, “H-huh? No, why would you think that?”

“Because you’ve been staring at me for a while now, sweetheart,” he was now looking at you with amusement in his eyes. 

“I didn’t notice I was doing that, I’m sorry,” you blushed furiously in embarrassment at getting caught, but also at what he called you. 

“It’s okay, it’s only fair since you’ve been distracting me too,” he pointed out nonchalantly. 

Your eyes widen in horror. “I have? I’m so sorry. I’ll try not to.”

“You don’t have to apologize for being pretty, princess,” he winked, and turned to his book again. 

He was smooth, too smooth for you to keep up with. You were a sputtering mess, which was so rare and almost unheard of. You usually could keep your cool even towards attractive guys, but him? He really knew how to break through your walls. 

After awhile, you closed your books. 

“I think I have to get going soon,” you announced, glancing at the watch on your wrist. It was almost 5 in the evening, and you had to eat and refreshed before patrol. 

He immediately put his book down and leaned forward, closer to you. 

“Will I see you here again?” he whispered. 

“Yeah, definitely,” you breathed. Without hesitation, you tore off a piece of paper from the corner of your notebook and wrote down your number and first name- intentionally leaving out your last. 

“Here’s my number, if you, uh, want to study together again,” you hand it to him. 

He took the piece of paper and said your name, rolling off his tongue perfectly. “Pretty name,” he smiled, “But I think I’ll call you princess, if you don’t mind. Or sweetheart. Or doll. You okay with that?”

“Uh-uhm, yeah I am,” you mumbled before hurriedly asking, “What’s yours?”

“You can call me Jason,” he stated. 

“Jason,” you repeated. Despite the many Jasons in the world, you somehow started to like that name. It suited him. 

“That’s me,” he smirked. 

“Well, Jason, it was a pleasure to get acquainted with you,” you stood up and held out your hand formally for a handshake. 

But instead of going for that, he took your hand in his, brought it closer to his mouth, and kissed your knuckles. You were red. 

“Pleasure is all mine,” he said huskily, eyes suddenly hooded, “How are you getting back?”

“I have someone to pick me up,” you took your hand back and dropped it to your side, the skin where he made contact with his lips burning. 

“Then have a safe a trip home. I’ll text you,” he added. 

“I’ll be looking forward to that,” you beamed, “Bye, Jason.”

“Goodbye, princess.”


	4. Saved Contacts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason releases his frustrations. 
> 
> Reader bumps into Red Hood for the second night in a row.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains mature content. Trigger warning for panic/anxiety attacks, and non-consensual sexual advances. I'd like to remind you again that this Jason isn't the Jason we all know and love.

The first few _drip,drip,drip_ of rain started like a rhythmic beat before it got faster and the whole sky poured down on Gotham, almost deafeningly loud, thundering against the metal exterior of Jason’s base. 

He was lying face up, looking at the concave grids of the metal ceiling, frowning furiously. Before he met you at the library, he guarded himself. He knew how dangerous your charms were, as you were probably well taught in the art of seduction. Using one’s femininity as a disarming factor was not only logical, but strategic and tactical. 

He honestly did not expect you to be a blushing, sputtering mess when he started to flirt with you. He didn’t know why it made him so angry that you looked so _innocent_ , like no one had ever flirted with you before. 

The way the red would creep slowly up your neck and fill your cheeks, the way you started to subconsciously bite your lower lip and tuck your hair behind your ears- it was a miracle he didn’t get hard right then and there. 

As of now, though, his dick was raging. Thinking back to when he saw you at the poolside, dripping wet and panting slightly, he wanted to lick the droplets of water that squeezed in between the tight valleys of your breasts. 

He palmed himself through his pants and let out a soft groan. 

You had certain habits that showed that you were nervous, like the lip biting. And your lip would get slightly wetter, and redder, and swollen when you released your lip from between your teeth. He tried so hard not to stare at them. 

But now he was letting his imaginations run wild, thinking of those lips around his hard, leaking cock, suckling and licking and spilling spit all over his head. 

He spat on his palm, and gripped his shaft underneath his pants, sliding it up and down. 

“Fuck,” he hissed to himself. He hadn’t gotten his release in weeks, and the frustration only amplified tenfold after he saw you for the first time.

The things he wanted to do to you. 

He wanted to take you right then and there in between the bookshelves. Were you a screamer or were you quiet? Fuck, did you even touch yourself? You seemed like the naive type who wouldn’t even hump a pillow. 

Would he have to clamp down on your mouth to make sure no one heard you if he had taken you in the library? Or would you be able to keep it in and settle for soft grunts as he pounded his dick hard into you?

His pace quickened as he thought of all the different scenarios of him fucking you. 

One thing for sure, you were definitely a virgin. Even if you weren’t, he knew how fucking tight you would be, he knew that your pussy would fit him like a glove and your walls would squeeze him. 

“Fuuuck,” he moaned, this time out loud together with the slick and filthy sounds of him pleasuring himself. 

He had all the privacy to be as loud as he wanted to be. 

He wanted to bring you back to his safe house, and fuck you there on his bed. If you were the quiet type, he wanted to make you _scream_ his name. He wanted to fuck you until your throat gets sore, like you’ve just been to a metal rock concert.

He shoved his pants down, taking out his cock.

He wanted to see your tits _bounce_. 

He came all over his fist without warning, jets of cum releasing in strings all over his hoodie. 

“Shit,” he whispered to himself realising the mess he made. He hoped none of it got onto his red sheets. He took off his hoodie and threw it across the narrow room, landing perfectly in the laundry basket. 

Fuck, he just came to just the thought of you. He felt relieved to a certain extent, but it just made him want you more.

He fished out the piece of paper you gave him from his pocket and saved your number on his phone. 

_Hey, princess. Got home safe?_ he typed in a new message window. The only message window. 

He saw you automatically type back. 

_I’m home now, safe and sound. Thank you. Is this Jason?_ you sent. 

_If you’re thinking about the sexy hunk from the library earlier, then yes, it’s me._ he replied. 

Instead of a message, you sent him a photo. A screenshot of his saved contact. But instead of writing his name, you saved the contact as ‘Sexy Hunk From Library’. 

Before Jason could stop himself, he let out a chuckle. 

And then he realised what he just did. 

He hadn’t genuinely, whole-heartedly laughed since he dug himself out of his own grave. He dropped his phone and sat up straight, putting his head in hands. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he grit through his teeth, and started to hyperventilate. He felt his chest tighten, like he was being strangled by something that wasn’t _there_. 

He’s had many panic attacks prior to this. When he finally could comprehend what had happened. When he found out Bruce sent the Joker back to the police. When he saw that Bruce had adopted you only three months after his death. Even when he wakes up in the middle of the night sometimes, after dreaming of the same scene that replayed over and over again. The crowbar, the metallic taste of blood, the ticking countdown of the bomb. 

But never because he _laughed_. 

He started counting backwards from 100 in his head, and tried to take deep breaths in between. Slowly, he calmed down, realising that the natural, normal way that the laughter had escaped his lips fucking scared him. 

*** 

You started overthinking when Jason didn’t reply you. 

Was it too much? Were you being too upfront? You didn’t get it, you were only teasing. 

Also, what were you doing? He was just a random person who came up to you and started _flirting_. Maybe you could have been more suspicious, but you couldn’t help but go along with it. He seemed normal enough. 

And not to mention fucking hot. 

But he was still a stranger, and you shouldn’t let your guard down just because he was good looking and charming. Yet, you couldn’t help your attraction to this mysterious man. 

It felt exhilarating to show your vulnerability to a man you hardly knew. 

You shook your head and shoved it to the back of your mind. You couldn’t afford to be overthinking about a boy not replying your text message when patrol was only in a few hours. 

There was at least 30 minutes left before you usually departed with Bruce, but while you were doing your warm up in the training ring of the Batcave, he suddenly called out to you in urgency. 

“Robin, suit up!” his loud voice echoed all the way from his computers, “Silent alarm triggered at Gotham National Bank downtown. Suspect is Red Hood.” 

Your head snapped towards Bruce, and immediately went to suit up as fast as you could. Your heart started beating rapidly at the memory of him from the previous night. 

Were you scared of him? 

No, you weren’t. Because you were excited to meet him again. 

You rode with Batman that night, as you didn’t have school the next day, appreciating how the mobile sped in between cars expertly.

It was another wet night, the rain pummeling down on the bulletproof roof of the car. You groaned internally at the weather as you felt another shiver went up your spine. 

“Alfred,” Batman spoke to the butler from screen fixed onto the desktop of the car, “Pull up security cameras from the bank.”

“Right away, sir,” he obediently replied. 

The screen changed to a live feed of a large vault door hanging ajar. The camera didn’t show the inside of the vault, but you saw a black duffel bag being thrown outside. At the entrance of the vault were two security officers, just hanging around nervously.

Red Hood strutted out casually from the vault with another bag, but before you could see what happened next, Batman cut the feed and then screeched the car to a stop. 

“Let’s go,” he announced, opening the roof of the car to get out. You hadn’t realised that you were there already until you saw the flickering police lights from the cars that lined outside the large, white building. 

You followed behind the swish of Batman’s cape as he approached Gordon, who was at the front lines frustratingly trying to light his cigarette in this weather. 

“Batman,” he breathed in relief, “There’s only one of him and all of us. We can take him this time.”

“He’s got hostages,” Batman reminded him, “And he’s got no qualms about killing.”

“We can negotiate,” Gordon stated, “Give us the hostages and we let him go with his money. As soon as the hostages are safe, we can take him down. We’ve got him surrounded. He’s got nowhere to go. The bank only has one exit for an added security measure.”

You scowled at the mention of the unsafe building plans. When a building is built, one would require a permit from Gotham Division of Building Safety to approve of the blueprints. Each state had their own safety codes that all buildings needed to adhere to. In short, if the plans didn’t match the codes, the permit would be denied, and the building can’t be built. 

But for some reason, Gotham National Bank had their permits approved. They would rather sacrifice the safety of people in the bank- in the case of a fire- by having only one exit, for the safety of the money stored inside. In fact, if there was a fire in one of the vaults, the automatic response was to suck all the air inside, leaving whoever is there to suffocate, and the vault contents safe.

Many of the rich stored their money there, including dirty money by mafia families. 

“Hmm,” Batman simply said, hiding his real thoughts on the matter. 

“If that’s your only input, Batman, then I’m going to go ahead and call the-”

Before Gordon could finish his sentence, the whole ground shook from what seemed to be an explosion coming from the bank. The front doors opened, and the two security officers came out, coughing, debris from inside escaping. 

In a split second, Batman ran straight into the cloud of dust and into the bank. 

“Robin, with me,” he called after you. 

You followed him inside, inserting a small mouth piece that filtered the air for you. You stumbled over what seemed to be an unconscious security guard lying on the floor. You squinted your eyes to see through the smoke and saw there were about a dozen guards all lying on the floor, assuming they were knocked out by Red Hood. 

“The vault, Robin, hurry!” Batman shouted. 

You jumped over the counters and straight to the back, where they kept the large vaults. You recognized the scene from the security cameras earlier, and headed to the opened vault, only to find it empty aside from Batman, who ran past you. 

“Where-” you started. 

“The back, Robin! He must have used an explosive to create an exit at the back!” he shouted. 

Soon enough, you found a large hole at the end of the hall, an impromptu exit to the back alleys, although Red Hood was nowhere to be seen. 

“Split up,” Batman told you, “He couldn’t have gotten far.”

“Wait, he might have driven away in a car!” you protested. 

“Then he would have had to park the _bike_ a few blocks away if he didn’t want it damaged,” Batman corrected you and pointed to the few vehicles in the street that was either upside down due to the force of the explosion, or crushed by large chunks of bricks. The alley was too narrow for a car. 

“I’ll go this way,” you pointed to your right, and ran through the dark, stinky alleys, activating the night vision of your mask. 

“Robin,” Batman’s voice sounded in your ear, “If you find him, contact me, and do not engage. If possible, put a tracker on him or follow him. Do. Not. Engage.”

“Got it,” you pressed the button to reply. 

The heavy rain had ceased to a light drizzle. Your eyes were vigilant, as for your ears, straining them for the slightest sounds of footsteps.

Or the cock of a gun. 

You froze. 

“Well, well, well,” you heard the familiar robotic sneer of Red Hood’s voice scrambler, “What do we have here? A little birdie lost in the dark?”

You turned around- “Slowly,” he growled. 

You were facing him then, looking down a barrel of a glock. 

“You move, I shoot,” he warned.

You needed to tell Batman you were in trouble. All you needed to do was press the hidden button behind the R symbol on your left chest. 

“And don’t even think of pressing the signal button,” he said, as if he read your thoughts. 

“What are you talking about?” you braved a question, acting dumb. It could have been a lucky guess. 

“The button at your R,” he nodded, “I know it’s there for you to call him when you’re in trouble. A silent signal flare. Don’t even.”

Your heart was beating almost out of your chest. How the fuck did he know? 

“So surprised that I know, you can’t even deny it?” he chuckled sarcastically, “Oh, baby, I can read your face so well. You’re an open book.”

Your mind was racing. You thought of the many times you disarmed someone with a gun pointed at you. You knew how. Batman taught you how. 

But suddenly you could feel the bruises on your neck again. Your feet were stuck to the ground and you just. Couldn’t. _Move_. 

Instead, you decided to open your mouth. 

“Attacked and murdered at a club last night, now you’re robbing Gotham National Bank? Alone?” you found yourself saying, “A bit too ambitious, don’t you think?’

“Ambitious?” he pondered, “Hmm, no. Maybe I just wanted to see you.”

You frowned at that statement, thinking of what Bruce had said to you the night before. _You’re closest to me_ you heard his voice echo in your head. 

“You want him, don’t you?” you asked, “You won’t get him through me. He doesn’t care about me.”

“Finally, a Robin who _gets_ it, huh?” he barked out a laugh, “But if you actually did, you wouldn’t be Robin, would you?”

“What the hell are you saying,” you demanded, tired of riddles. 

“You must think that he cares, or else you wouldn’t stay so faithfully by his side,” he explained, “There’s no point in trying to divert me, baby girl. I know how he thinks.”

“Stop calling me that,” you automatically responded. 

“Baby girl? Why not? It suits you,” he teased, “Won’t you be my baby girl?”

“Why the hell would I?” you grit. 

“You’ll learn to like me sooner or later, baby,” he replied, “Innocent girls like you always fall for bad boys like me.”

“How do you know I’m innocent?” you jibed back. 

“Oh, aren’t you?” he drawled, “You’re telling me you have naughty thoughts in your head?”

For some reason, your cheeks started feeling hot. You noticed that he had moved closer to you.

“Because I definitely do,” he articulated, “Many, many naughty thoughts, and many of them about you, too.”

You had assholes with potty mouths speak to you like that before, but you always ended up knocking them out and shaking it off. For some reason, Red Hood’s insinuations were getting to you. 

“In fact, just before I came out tonight, I had a naughty thought about you,” he continued, “And while I was thinking about you, I was also doing naughty _things_. You know what I’m talking about don’t you?”

He was no more than a foot away from you now. 

“I’m sure you do,” he went on, “I’m sure you also-”

Before he could finish his sentence, you made a move to the side and tried to knock the gun from his hand. But he responded too quickly, because just as soon as you moved, he swung his hand so hard and hit your head with the side of the gun, causing you to stumble.

You quickly recovered and used your current low position to sweep his legs, but he just jumped out of the way towards you, and before you knew it, he hit you across the face again, making you see stars. 

He grabbed you by the hair and threw you against the alley wall, where you slid down to the floor. 

He fisted the cape by your nape and positioned you upright, but pushed you against the wall face first, your back towards him. 

“Feisty little one, aren’t you?” he growled. 

“Fuck you,” you spat, but then froze again. 

He had you completely immobilized by using his whole body weight, but you felt a hand slide around your waist, and up your stomach slowly. 

“Hmm, the other Robins weren’t as pretty as you,” he mumbled behind you. 

His hand had reached up to your right breast, and he cupped it before giving it a little squeeze. 

“You always wear this much armor, baby?” he chuckled. 

“Only when I’m going to kick your ass,” you barked, attempting to break free of his hold, ignoring the weird butterflies in your tummy, and the growing tingle between your legs.

“You’re so mean,” he pretended to whine, “I only want to be friends.”

And with that, you felt the pressure on your back was lifted, along with the hand cupping your breast. You turned around and Red Hood was gone, and you didn’t know which way he went.

“Batman,” you quickly contacted him, “He was here. Now he’s gone. I’m sorry.”

“Are you okay?” the first thing he demanded to know. 

“He hit me in the head pretty hard,” you said honestly, “I actually do feel a bit disoriented, but not more than the usual injury.”

“Stay where you are, I’ll come get you,” he ended the call.

Not one minute passed and you saw him turn into the alley where you were. 

“Why didn’t you contact me?” he asked, gloved hands reaching towards you to check your injury. 

“He had a gun on me,” you scowled, “I wanted to signal you, but guess what? He _knew_ , B. He knew where the button was. He told me he’d shoot if I reached for it.”

“Let’s talk in the car. We need to get you back,” he commanded. 

You followed him back inside the bank, where the GCPD was now swarming. Yellow tapes were put up along the entrance, and there were flashes from photographers and journalists trying to get access to Gordon, who was inside the vault that was broken into. 

“Whose vault is this?” Batman came from behind him, making him jump. 

“Oswald Cobblepot,” he replied with frustration, “I guess it could be worse. Doesn’t look like he took much, but we will have an official amount in the morning. Didn’t get him?”

Batman left the vault, not bothered to answer. 

“You could try being a little friendlier with him, you know?” you trailed behind him. 

“I am friendly to him,” he deadpanned. 

You simply rolled your eyes. 

The ride back was mostly silent, until you decided to ask, “So how did he know I had a button on my uniform?” 

Batman just stared at the streets. It was a normal thing you had to deal with.

“Bruce,” you sighed. 

“What else did he say to you?” he interrupted. 

“I told him to not bother with me if he wanted to get to you because you didn’t care,” you explained, “I just wanted to drag on until I could, uh, come up with a way to disarm him.”

Until you could _move_. 

“He told me there was no use trying to divert him,” you continued, “He said he knew how you think.” 

“Anything else?”

“No,” you decided to leave out the inappropriate exchange. 

“Hmm,” he simply replied. 

“I hate it when you do that,” you crossed your arms and grumbled. 

“Do what?”

“Keep things from me,” you whispered, looking out the window. 

He was silent for awhile, the awkward tension in the car building. 

“I don’t know everything,” he finally broke the silence, “But when I do, I promise I will tell you. You need to trust me.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you dismissed. 

The remainder of the ride you tried to ignore the heat that came from your right breast, the one he groped. You should have felt disgusted, and violated, but instead you felt… curious. You thought he was doing all of that just to get a rise out of you, just to torment you. Not because he was actually attracted to you. 

But you swore, you could feel his erection digging in your ass earlier. 

***   
You went back to your room after a full head examination with Alfred, and cleaned up. You had to put a bandage on your forehead from the cut that Red Hood’s glock made. Bruce had left to continue his patrol, while you were under strict orders to rest in case you had more head injuries.

Finally jumping underneath the sheets, you checked your phone- surprised to see an unread message from Sexy Hunk From Library, received two hours ago.

He sent you a screenshot of your own saved contact on his phone. You blushed when you read what he had saved your contact as. 

_Princess._

Along with the photo, he sent a text, _Sorry for the late reply, princess. A friend came over unannounced._

You immediately typed a reply, _It’s okay, I’ve been pretty occupied too._

You smiled when you saw that he was typing. 

_You’re up late! What were you occupied with?_

You glanced at the time, only then realising that it was nearly 2am.

 _I didn’t realise it was so late! I’m so sorry, did I wake you? I’ll text you in the morning._ you frantically sent. 

_I was still up, sweetheart, relax. Was only teasing. You must have been really busy if you didn’t notice the time._ he replied. 

_I was on Netflix, if that counts?_ you lied. 

_Sure, it does. What are you doing now?_

_Lying under my sheets, all comfy and warm._ you described. 

_Yeah, it’s a bit cold tonight, isn’t it? If I were with you I’d definitely try to warm you up_ he sent back with an additional winky face emoji at the end. 

You blushed at the suggestion, now thinking whether you should reciprocate his flirting, or shut him down. 

_And how would you do that, Mr Sexy Hunk From Library?_ you decided on the former. It was fun flirting with him, and you wanted to see how far the two of you would go. 

_Oh, you know. Just give you more blankets_ he typed back. 

You chuckled to yourself. So now he was being coy with you? Two could play at that game. 

_And I’d gladly take them, thank you very much. I think I’m going to head to bed now, Jason. Goodnight._

_Goodnight, princess._

If he was going to play hard to get, you definitely weren’t going to back down either.


	5. The Metro Line

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The library, and an eventful train ride.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A fluffy one before a quite dark next chapter! Sorry for the wait. Been busy and also faced writer's block many times, so progress was slow. I've read all your comments, and honestly they've been keeping me going! I was so scared to post a long-ish fic, but you guys have comforted me greatly with all your support. So thank you! Anyway, enjoy!

The light streamed into your room through the gaps of your heavy curtains that you had forgotten to close properly the night before. A ray of sun caught you in the eyes, causing you to blink yourself awake, groaning at the assault of the day. 

You glanced at the time on your phone. It was already 9 in the morning. 

The second groan that escaped your lips was due to the throbbing in your head. You brought your fingers up and touched the small butterfly bandage that covered the cut that almost disappeared into your hairline. 

You were lucky that asshole hit you at your frontal bone. You had moved just in time to make sure he didn’t hit you at your temple.

If you hadn’t moved, and he hit your pterion, a weak point in your skull and your middle meningeal artery tore, giving you an epidural hemorrhage- well, it wouldn’t have ended great for you. You thanked Bruce silently for giving you the lesson on traumatic brain injuries, a topic widely discussed as vigilantes. 

You made a mental note to probably add a cowl or some sort of head protection for your uniform, suddenly wondering why mortal vigilantes never tried to protect their brains. 

_He_ probably thought of it. 

The image of the glaring red helmet came to you, staring at you like it was angry. 

You wondered if he put traumatic brain injury into consideration. 

You wondered if he ever got hit in the head before, making him wear a helmet everywhere. 

Oh, what would you give to witness _that_. 

You lied in bed suddenly thinking of Red Hood’s hard dick against your ass when he pushed you into the wall. At first you didn’t realise it, since you were being roughed up by a horrible, psychopathic villain, and when you did, you thought it was a gun, or his belt buckle, or something that wasn’t what it really was. 

And then he _grinded_ on you. 

Well, you could have been mistaken. You were struggling to break free and he was struggling to keep you there. The movement could have just been your imagination. 

But then he fucking _groped_ you, and you weren’t as disgusted as you should have been. In fact, you felt nervous, a rather odd emotion to feel when you were being molested by a murderer. You felt a tingling sensation in between your legs when you thought of him squeezing your breasts again. You didn’t feel much because of your flexible armored breastplate, but shit, you wanted to. 

You slowly brought your hand down, all the while trying to stop yourself- because what the hell? You were getting horny thinking of a damn psychopathic, murderous villain touching you. It was so wrong. 

_Improper._

Your mother's voice echoed in your thoughts. Somehow you managed to conjure her face too, her upturned nose, scrunching like she was disgusted by you. 

You slipped your fingers underneath your waistband and head to your sensitive area, slowly giving in to your instinct. 

_If you ever touch yourself down there, don't bother calling yourself a lady. Call yourself a whore, because that's what you would be._

You tried to ignore your mother's words when you remembered the day she told you about the birds and the bees. You were only 8. 

Maybe she was right. Maybe you shouldn't touch yourself. Especially not to some villain from the streets. You didn't want to be impure and corrupted like your own parents were. 

But your hand never stopped dipping into your panties. 

Buzzzzzzz. 

You jolted your hand back in surprise when you heard your phone vibrate next to you. 

_Good morning, Princess. You up?_

You smiled when you read Jason’s message, and quickly sent a reply. 

_Good morning! I just woke up, and still in bed._

_I bet you have crazy bed head,_ he replied. 

You decided to take a quick snap of yourself lying down on the pillow with your hair all over and send it to him along with a text reading, _It’s not too bad, is it?_

You saw him typing, but it took longer this time. You waited anxiously, thinking that perhaps maybe it was too soon to be sending selfies to each other? 

_I’d like to mess it up even more,_ he finally sent. 

You bit your lip, fighting the urge to smile like an idiot. But before you could reply, he sent another text. 

_Wait, what’s that on your head? Did you hurt yourself?_

Shit. You forgot you had the bandage on despite internally complaining about it earlier. It was deep in your hairline too, so you hadn’t noticed it in the picture. Which meant that Jason was very perceptive. 

Or, he was just _really_ staring at your picture. 

_I knocked my head on a sliding glass door, thinking it was open haha,_ you sent. Lying through text was much easier. 

_Not gonna lie, I burst out laughing when I read that. I can see it’s a bit red now. You’re going to end up with a bruise in a few hours. Although, I don’t know how bumping in a sliding door can give you a cut,_ he replied, along with an emoji showing its tongue. 

For some reason, you felt like he was being condescending. Was he perhaps mocking you? Why would he? 

_Well, that’s how it goes with me. I’m pretty clumsy,_ you texted back, hoping he takes the bait. Why wouldn’t he? He didn’t know anything about your activities. 

Somehow you felt a sudden dread. It was a weird feeling that came out of nowhere. You started doubting yourself. You shouldn’t have easily just trusted a stranger like that. He could be anyone. 

But the chances of someone knowing your identity was too slim. And if he wasn’t good enough to figure out who you and your family were, then he wouldn’t be good enough to cause too much damage to you. After all, you were confident in your own skill, and even more so in Bruce’s. 

So you shrugged it off, and waited patiently for a reply. 

_You better be careful then, or else you’ll ruin that pretty face of yours,_ he responded. 

_Aw, you think I’m pretty?_ you immediately replied. 

_Did I say that? Must have been a typo. Anyway what are your plans for this weekend?_ he sent back. 

You giggled out loud. 

_I might do some swimming,_ you told him. 

_Oh, you swim? You any good?_ he asked. 

_Of course I am! I’m the captain of my school’s swim team, and I’ve won some solo titles too,_ you bragged. 

_I’d like to see you swim one day. But maybe I’m just looking for an excuse to see you in a swimsuit,_ he replied with another tongue sticking out emoji. 

_Hold onto your horses, my swimsuit is just the boring ones you see in the Olympics. You don’t wear a bikini or anything when you swim seriously,_ you sent. 

_You’d leave plenty for my imagination, then. Okay, I’ll leave you to your stuff. Have a great weekend, sugar,_ he texted. 

You too, Jason, you simply replied and got out of bed, heading to the bathroom to wash up and going down for breakfast. 

You were scheduled to do some training with the bots today, so you made sure to warm up, because you knew the difficulty setting on the bots would be set high for you by Bruce. 

“Again,” his deep voice echoed in the bot training room when you fell flat on your ass. 

The room was a space built by Bruce in the cave, a separate training ground that had about a dozen robots he built himself and programmed. He would watch you from behind the glass walls near the controls and assessed you from there. 

He set only one robot on you that day, but to the same combative skill as Deathstroke. It was easier analyzing your movements when he was watching you from afar as opposed to fighting you. 

You got up on your feet, and took a fighting position again. The robot in front of you was 2 feet taller than you, the heap of metal obviously more painful when it hit you as opposed to flesh and bone. 

Bruce was nice enough to tell the robot not to hit your face too hard, though. It was after a teacher in school suspected he was abusing you due to the bruises you sustained from training. That was a bit of a laugh, because Bruce Wayne's reputation could have been absolutely ruined if the suspicion were to get out. You had to tell her that you were doing MMA after school, which was almost true. 

For the seventh time in a row, the bot beat you again. 

“We’re done for today,” he announced through the microphone from the outside. 

Disappointed in yourself, you exited the room and approached Bruce, waiting for your long lecture. 

“Good work,” he simply said. 

You waited for his criticism, but it never came. 

“But..?” you prompted him. 

“No buts. Good work. That is all,” he said in a poker face with crossed arms, stretching his t-shirt and making his biceps look even larger. 

“You usually always have something to say,” you narrowed your eyes at him suspiciously. 

“Not today,” he answered. 

“I didn't even win one time,” you argued.

“The difficulty was set very high, I myself would have had trouble with it,” he replied. 

“Well is there anything I can improve?” you tried.

“Just keep doing what you're doing. You've already improved a lot, which is why I'm telling you _good work_ ,” he explained.

You could see the corner of his mouth twitching slightly. The damn bastard found this funny. 

Bruce went through some sort of “character development” as Dick put it. He reckoned that after Jason's death, he regretted not truly appreciating his life and spending more time being a father for him. So now Bruce has learned to soften up over the years with you, sometimes even messing with you like he was doing now. 

Dick was also convinced it was because you were a girl, and also “Brucie’s little princess”. 

You rolled your eyes whenever he called you that. You couldn't deny it. It was true. Bruce loved to spoil you. 

But a part of you thought that it was because he felt bad for what happened to your parents the night he found you. 

He blamed himself, after all. 

You, on the other hand, were glad that Bruce had replaced your psychopathic parents. 

“Okay then,” you gave up, “I’m going to head to the library after this.” 

“Don't you have any friends to go out with instead?” he suddenly asked. 

You were slightly offended at his condescending tone. 

“I do,” you lied- you hated your classmates, “But I want to study instead of going to the movies or shopping- oh which reminds me, I need to buy waterproof makeup.” 

“You said you'd rather study than go shopping,” he raised an eyebrow. 

“Yeah, but this is essential. The pool water washes off the makeup that covers my bruises and I don't want people to notice and- oh my God, I hate you,” you scowled at him when you saw him slowly smirk. Ever so slightly. 

This is what you meant by him messing with you. If Dick were to have witnessed this, he would have gone on and on about you being daddy’s little girl. 

“I’ll leave my credit card on the dining table. I keep telling you to make one for yourself,” he lectured for real this time. 

“And I keep telling you that I don't want one,” you grumbled. You saw how your parents abused their money. Unnecessary jewelry and crystals and watches- while kidnapping the poor and homeless to experiment on. Their greed and cruelty disgusted you. You didn't want to become like them. 

Bruce, having seen your change in expression, dropped the matter. “I'll see you in time for patrol,” he dismissed you. 

You nodded and left to get ready for the library, wondering if you should send a text to Jason to let him know you'll be there. 

You were worried that you were being too obvious, but you sent him a vague message anyway. 

_Heading to the library soon. Would you like me to check any book titles for you?_

Jason read the message, but never replied you. Which made you overthink about it from when Alfred got behind the wheel all the way to when he dropped you off. 

“Would you like me to pick you up here, Miss Wayne?” he asked you before you left the car. 

“No thank you, Alfred. I'm going to take the train to the mall after this. Maybe then?” 

“Do let me know,” he nodded. 

“Will do,” you replied and shut the door behind you. 

You checked your phone. He still haven’t replied you yet. He must have saw through the text and thought you were being clingy. Your mother was right, women shouldn’t ever make the first move. It was unlady-like. 

You walked inside the tall wooden doors of your favourite place in Gotham, heading straight to your preferred desk. You were at first disappointed to see that someone was already occupying it, but then immediately backtracked when you saw that the person was the guy whom you had been thinking about right before. 

When he noticed you coming towards him, he immediately gave you a smile, his blue eyes twinkling. Your stomach did a backflip. He wasn’t wearing his red faded hoodie this time, but a tight black shirt that stretched deliciously across his broad chest. 

“Is this seat occupied?” you whispered. 

“By you, now,” he winked. 

You settled down. 

“I didn’t know you’d be here,” you told him. 

“I only came because you told me you were going to be here,” he answered, “I hope I’m not crossing any lines or being a total creep, though. I just wanted to see you.”

“Not at all,” you shook your head, blushing, “When you didn’t reply me, I thought, well, I thought I scared you off or something.”

“Honey, it takes a whole lot more to scare _me_ off,” he chuckled, “Done swimming?”

“Oh yeah, I swam in the morning and decided to come here,” you lied. 

“How long will you stay for?” he asked. 

“A couple hours,” you checked your watch, “I’m taking the metro to Fashion District after this.”

Despite Gotham having a public library at Old Gotham, you preferred to go to Gotham University Library, which was open to public too, as it was nearer to the Academy too. It was almost as old and just as equipped. 

“The metro?” he repeated, “That’s quite a few stops away. You’ll be getting down at Commerce Street then?”

“Wow, look at you,” you beamed, “You know your stations quite well.”

His expression changed ever so slightly darker. 

“When I was small my parents didn’t really pay attention to me,” he explained grimly, “We were poor. I took public transportation everywhere I went.”

Your heart sank. You never knew what it was like to be poor. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bring that up,” you started. 

“No, no,” he snapped back to reality, “It’s fine. I just- hadn’t thought about my past in a long time, that’s all.”

“Okay,” you tried to bring back the mood, “I’ve got to buy a few things before going back home, so I have to cut today shorter than usual.”

“How long do you usually stay?” he leaned forward and put his chin on his hand, interested in your ramblings. 

“Three hours on busy days, four or five on free days,” you explained, “This is my favourite place in Gotham.”

His eyes flashed with a certain excitement when he heard that, “Is it now?”

“Yeah, it’s just so,” you paused while struggling to find the word for it, “Separate.”

“Separate?” he laughed, “I don’t think I get you, sweetheart.”

“It’s separate from the Gotham I love and hate,” you began, “Outside, it’s so gloomy. The people in the streets look depressed, then there’s the news- constantly reminding you of all the crime and the bad things that go on in the world. If you go to the richer areas, it’s cleaner yes, but then you see all these extravagant spending when almost thirty percent of Gotham citizens are classified to be in poverty.”

“But in here? It’s just the smell books and wood, and the sounds are just people whispering or typing, or the scratches of pencil and pen on a piece of paper. No one bothers anyone here. It’s like a different world, separate from the reality we live in,” you finished. 

Jason looked dazed, slightly smiling at you and just _looking_ at you with such intensity. 

“Oh God, I spoke too much, I’m sorry,” you apologized profusely for your lack of filter, embarrassed that you had gone on talking. Where were your manners? 

“I like the way you look when you talk about the things you love,” he smiled. 

“I talked too much, you shouldn’t have to put up with that,” you insisted. 

“No,” he shook his head, “I like the way you look.”

He didn’t say anything else, and continued reading his book. You took out your laptop and started your own work. 

Two hours went by fast, and before you knew it, you were already packing and ready to leave for the station. 

“Hey, I’m going to head to Gotham University station now,” you announced. 

He closed his book and got up, “I’ll go with you. I’m heading to Uptown, so you’ll get off before I do.”

“Okay, then,” you blushed to yourself, secretly happy that he was coming with you. 

The walk to the station was only 5 minutes. You groaned when the train arrived. It was packed- more packed than usual considering it was a weekend. 

“Shit, all the corner spots are taken,” you grumbled as the two of you squeezed in. 

“Hmm?”

“I usually stand at the corner because some creeps on the train like to grope women,” you explained. 

“Well, come here, then,” he pulled you closer to him. Your back was against the closed doors, and he stood towering above you, shielding you from anyone else. One hand was holding the handle above his head, and the other was flat against the doors, almost trapping you between his body. You could feel his heat radiating on you. 

“This way, I’ll protect you from the gropers,” he grinned, “Unless I’m a groper myself, in which case, bad luck for you.”

“Nah, you’re not a groper,” you giggled. 

“How would you know?” his eyes turned dark, “We only met yesterday, doll. I could be a total creep and you wouldn’t know.”

“Well, I could be a total creep too,” you argued back playfully. 

“Are you telling me you’re a groper?” he chuckled, “I’d better watch out then. But really, I think I’d welcome being groped by you.”

“Jason!” you slapped him on his chest gently while laughing. 

He looked down at you, pulling you in with his eyes. Before you realised, his hand lingered to your forehead, his thumb gently rubbing the cut on your hairline. 

“There’s a bruise there now. You should be more careful. You’re going to ruin that pretty face of yours,” he repeated what he had said earlier that morning. 

“Aaah,” you grinned, “You called me pretty.”

“Huh? I did? Don’t think so,” he acted dumb. 

“Yes, you did! You said-”

“I said you’ll ruin that pretty face of yours,” he finished your sentence, but the way he said it made you squirm. He was closer to you, and he said it so softly, and almost romantic- his eyes softening. 

Without warning, he pulled you in and kissed you on the head, right on the wound. 

You blushed furiously, not knowing how to respond, so you just stood there and gaped at him. Jason wasn’t dealing with it any better too. You could see his cheeks were slightly red and he was avoiding your eyes. 

“I- uh- sorry,” he stuttered, “I don’t know what came over me.”

“It’s fine,” you squeaked. 

He had completely changed. His body was stiff, no longer relaxed and casual like he was before. His expression was also different, he had a slight frown, and you could see him clenching and unclenching his angular jaw. 

_Next station, Commerce Street._

“I’ll see you around, Jason,” you told him. 

He looked at you and nodded. 

“Hey,” you said, “It’s really okay. I didn’t mind it.”

He looked at you hard for a few moments before sighing, “Okay. I’m still sorry. I’ll text you?”

“That sounds great,” you smiled as the doors behind you opened. You turned around and walked away, waving him goodbye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By the way, what do you guys think of Bruce's "character development"? I just love the idea of Bruce spoiling his daughter and softening up to her. That's how it is with _most_ dads! Let me know in the comments :)


	6. Safe Haven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You don't realise that Jason breaks your heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I just wanted to say that if you guys are interested in this story or more of my works, please follow me on psychovigilantewrites.tumblr.com for more little bits of information that I don't post here! This includes my inspirations, photos of what Jason's safe house looks like, maps of Gotham, updates on when I'm currently writing a chapter, and I sometimes ask for opinions and ideas :) 
> 
> This chapter contains some explicit scenes, descriptions of dead bodies, and PTSD symptoms.

It seemed like the whole safe house shook when Jason slammed the door shut, the force reverberating in the metal walls. 

The anger he felt towards himself was phenomenal, he wanted to punch himself in the face. He wanted to take the crowbar again. 

The kiss wasn’t part of the plan- he really did not expect to do it, but the way you had looked at him, laughed with him, it made it so _fucking_ hard to resist your complete innocence and naivety. He was obviously lying when he said he had somewhere to be as an excuse to get on the train with you. 

Yet you weren’t even good enough to detect his lie. 

So why did Bruce love you so much? You weren’t as good as he was if you couldn’t even read him well enough to see through one small lie. 

Fuck. 

Your face had lit up when you talked about how much you loved that stupid fucking library, like you were a kid talking about Disneyland. 

_Fuck_. 

He wanted to burn the library down just to see what kind of face you’d make then. He liked to imagine hurting you when he was angry at himself, perhaps a way to compensate for the fact that he was beginning to get obsessed with you, deviating from his original plan. 

Jason had actually felt sorry for giving you a bruise, and the guilt lead him to kiss you. 

Originally, he had expected to feel nothing but immense hatred when he spent time with you, so he prepared himself in advance, thinking of his goals, reeling in his emotions, so he doesn’t slam your head against the wall accidentally. 

But no, it was the complete opposite. 

He hadn’t expected his smiles and laughter to be genuine. He hadn’t expected to _like_ the way you looked when you talked about the things you loved. 

He hadn’t expected to _feel_ anything but numbness and hatred. 

He sat down on the bed and put his head in his hands, tugging at his hair. 

“FUCK!” he roared. 

The dark jeans he wore had a darker round stain on it. Only then did he notice that he was crying, tears dripping onto his pants.

How did it come to this?

He needed to do something bad to suppress what he was feeling. He wanted it to all go away. 

With a last sniffle, he finally decided what he was going to do. 

But was he really okay with doing it? 

*** 

The stench always got to you. 

Whether it was the smell of a rotting corpse that was found on the shore of one of the ports- bloated, grimy, bones at the tip of its fingers peeking through already due to the fish, or the smell of guts and blood like how it was at the club. 

Or even the smell of strong chemicals wafting from high end perfume stores, scents mixed and jumbled up into a large cloud of stink. 

You didn’t like to shop. 

Especially anywhere near the Fashion or Diamond district. 

You didn’t like to be surrounded by the elite, despite being one yourself. 

That beautiful woman in her mid-40s with great hair and fashionable dress choosing her purchase carefully could very well be just like your mother- controlling, cruel, manipulative, and toxic. 

Or that handsome man with slight grey hair- that made him look even better in your opinion, wearing an expensive tailored suit while walking with his wife- you didn’t miss how he was glancing up and down at you, checking you out with a creepy smirk on his face, his wife oblivious. It reminded you of your father- greedy, lustful,power hungry, and overall psychopathic. 

Of course you knew that no one is actually how they seem, whether they were rich or poor, but the rich _especially_ disgusted you because you saw the reality of your parents and their friends. 

Not everyone was like Bruce Wayne. Even then, as charitable and kind his persona was, he was still a womanizer, and you were sure he has hurt many women over the years, taking advantage of their desperation to be with the number one bachelor of Gotham.

Not like the women were very respectable either, but still. 

You already bought your makeup, but you still had a few hours till patrol, so you decided to get a smoothie and sit down while you wait for Alfred to pick you up. 

When you got back to the manor, it was almost dark, so you straight away head down to the cave to change and warm up. 

And then it was time to go out. You jumped in with Batman again. 

From time to time, the minute the both of you departed, Batman would already have gotten a call from Gordon, or something would have come up on the police radios. That night, it was slow. The only traffic that was on the police comms were graffiti and noise complaints. 

During slow nights, the both of you would go straight to Crime Alley, the hotspot for criminal activity. 

Batman parked his car in one of the alleys and activated its security system. The two of you started to patrol from the rooftops, splitting up but not too far away. 

You grappled from block to block freely, one of your favorite things in the world. You would jump off the top of a building without fear- as if you could fly. You loved the feeling of the wind blowing your hair, the surge of adrenaline that never faded. 

You kept your eyes in the alleys for suspicious activity, of course. You would particularly hang about near the back apartments, as a lot of drug users stayed there. You saw the drug users as victims mostly, but some of them sometimes get violent. From where you were, you could hear a lot coming from the apartment. 

TV blasting, music, couples arguing- you paid attention to the latter a lot since it could potentially escalate into a domestic abuse issue. You sat down for a while on the roof, your legs hanging down. 

Dick had told you that Todd came from a place like this. His mother was a junkie, and his dad a criminal who went to prison, so he had to basically take care of himself, often stealing or doing dirty jobs just for a couple bucks. 

You felt sad when you thought of him, despite not knowing him, you saw how he impacted everyone. He was a part of the family. 

You thought about _your_ Jason. He had mentioned that he grew up poor. You wondered if he was as poor as Jason Todd, or whether his parents were as bad, or whether he had to ever resort to crime. 

_Robin,_ Batman’s voice buzzed in your ear, _Batmobile. Now._

You got up and ran back towards the Batmobile. He must have heard something on the radio. 

When you got back, he was already waiting for you in the car. You hopped in swiftly and buckled your belt. 

“What’s the sitch?” you asked, smirking to yourself over the Kim Possible reference Bruce would never get. 

“We’re heading to Upper Gotham Proper,” he announced, forcing the car to full speed. 

You frowned. 

“What’s going on?” you asked. 

“Arson. No victims found,” he said. 

“Arson?” you repeated, “Why are we needed? The fire department should be all over that.”

“The building in question had a very sophisticated fire system, due to some valuable items inside. If the building were to catch on fire, the system would be able to extinguish it without a problem,” he explained. 

“Yet, the fire wasn’t extinguished,” you thought out loud, piecing the information together, “Which means the fire was intentional, and wasn’t by some amateur.”

“Correct,” he stated. 

“So you want to do some investigating?”

“Correct.”

“What building was it?” you pondered. There weren’t really many buildings worth destroying, since Upper Proper was like a mini edu-city. Mainly just universities and academies. 

“Gotham University Public Library.”

***

You watched helplessly as the orange and red flames angrily licked the library’s infrastructure. 

You could feel the heat even from the far distance across the street. You couldn’t do anything but just stare, limp, not saying a word, not moving a muscle.

Your heart was breaking on the inside. 

The thousands of books, the wooden shelves- some a hundred or more years old, were now just fuel to the fire. You thought of your favourite desk by the glass windows. 

When you were 15, you had etched your initials there. They never fixed it. It was your desk. Now you could only picture it being engulfed by the heat, charred beyond recognition. 

You imagined those bookshelves, tall and magnificent, how you loved to just aimlessly walk through them while brushing your fingers onto the book spines that aligned neatly, inhaling the scent of books and wood that you loved so much. You imagined all of that charred black, books that dated back to almost a century crumbling in your hands. 

“Why isn’t it stopping?” you whispered, half to Batman beside you, half to yourself. 

Your eyes pooled with tears. 

“Why aren’t they stopping the fire?” you repeated. 

“It’s big. Seems like the fire system has been completely deactivated. It will take a few hours for the fire to go down,” he explained, “You don’t have to be here. I know how much it meant to-”

“Shut up,” you croaked, “Just. Shut up.”

The two of you stood by in silence just watching as your favorite place in the world burned to the ground. 

Two and a half hours passed before the fire died down, leaving only a skeleton of what the place was. Batman finally left your side and approached one of the firefighters. You followed silently behind him. 

You heard the voices, but couldn’t decipher the words. The sound of your own heart breaking and the memory of how the flames crackled, eating its way into the walls, were too loud for you to hear anything else. 

“I see,” you heard Batman’s voice distantly. 

He turned your way and got in the car, you following him like a zombie. 

“They caught the arsonists,” he said. 

The arsonists? Oh, right. The people who destroyed your safe haven. 

Suddenly your blood boiled. 

“Two men, late twenties,” he continued. 

You wanted to break their bones. 

“Previously charged with destruction of public property, multiple accounts of arson, robbery. They seem experienced,” he went on. You glanced sideways. He was looking at their files through the screen of the Batmobile. 

Their faces flashed before you. You wanted to mutilate those faces beyond recognition. 

“They don’t seem to have any background in security hacking, though.”

“They’re arsonists,” you spoke up, “They should know how a fire alarm system works.” 

“The library’s fire alarm system is state of the art- not just anyone would be able to figure it out. It’s mostly computerized, and hooked to two backup generators. The library had a lot of valuable books kept there,” he explained, “You would need an experienced hacker- or at least a decent software- to deactivate the system.”

“Maybe they hired someone and they got away,” you suggested, your own voice devoid of emotion. You were trying not to break down in front of your adoptive father, so you had to switch off any feelings you had.

“Maybe,” he hummed, “We’re going back.”

“The night is still young,” you deadpanned. 

“Not for you,” he said, “You’re obviously not in a stable condition. I’m sending you back.”

You shrugged, too tired to argue. You were actually glad he was sending you back. You weren’t sure if you could keep it in the whole night. 

When you reached the cave, you sat there in the seat for a while. 

“Bruce?” you softly called out to the man beside you. 

“Hmm?”

“Thank you for staying by my side just now,” you whispered. 

“Hmm,” he simply replied. You knew he wasn’t very good with heart to heart affection, so you left it as that. 

The moment you entered your room, you immediately broke into tears, sobbing into the pillows. You cried for an hour before you subsided to tiny hiccups. You checked your phone. It was only midnight. 

You were in anguish, but you knew you needed to talk to someone. 

You brought your phone to your ears, waiting for them to pick up. 

“Hello?” a male voice answered. 

“Dick?” you said. 

“What did I do to deserve that?” he chuckled. 

“Wait- wha?” you checked your phone and then facepalmed yourself hard, “Jason. I’m sorry. I meant to call someone else.”

When did your fingers disconnect from your brain and independently called Jason instead of Dick? 

“It’s okay- wait, are you crying?” you heard him ask. 

You were still sniffling and hiccuping, you weren’t surprised he knew. 

“Uhm, yeah,” you gave a watery, humorless laugh. 

“Oh no, sweetheart, what’s wrong?” he urged. 

“Nothing- it’s just- well,” you couldn’t control your emotions anymore. You felt the sobs coming up again. 

“Hey, it’s okay,” he comforted you, “You can talk to me. I’m here for you.”

“Have- have you heard?” you sniffled. 

“About what?” 

“The- the library,” you choked, “It- it’s gone.”

“Library? Gone? What do you mean?” he asked. 

“It caught fire and- and burned down,” you sobbed, “Jason, it burnt to the ground. It’s gone.”

“What?” you heard him cry, “How?”

Despite your chaotic state of mind, you knew you couldn’t give him details yet, since you didn’t know if they had announced it in the news. 

“I don’t know,” you wailed, “A friend who lives nearby took a picture and sent it to me. I only just found out.”

“Oh no, sugar, I’m so sorry,” he apologized, sounding concerned, “I really am. I know how much that place meant to you.”

“My parents were assholes,” you spilled to him, not caring that he didn’t know who you were, or in what context you were talking about, “When I was small, one of our maids would bring me to the library when my parents scolded me to cheer me up. It was my safe haven, Jason. It made my childhood suck less.”

By “scolded” you actually meant locking you in your room for a week because you accidentally spilled some ketchup on your designer children’s dress your father bought you that you never asked for. After the week was over, you were terrified of making the slightest movements, afraid you would trip over and rip something, or drop something, or just _anything_. One of the maids brought you to the library for the first time one weekend to cheer you up. 

She got fired immediately when they found out about her sneaking you out on the weekends. 

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he offered his condolences. 

“I’m sorry for putting this on you,” you realised, “I’m sorry- I just dialed the wrong number and you picked up and now you’ve got this huge mess crying over the phone to you.”

“Not at all, sugar. Don't worry about it,” his soothing voice reassured you, “Hey, tell you what? I know this might seem like I’m being super creepy, but could we put this on video call?”

“No,” you whined, “I just cried, Jason. I look ugly.” 

“Aw, come one, I’m sure you don’t look too bad,” he tried.

“I don’t know,” you hesitated. 

“Don’t you wanna see my handsome face?” he joked. 

“Alright, alright, hold on,” you gave in, switching the call to video.

His face appeared on your screen. A bit blurry, but still very handsome. He seemed to be lying on his back on his bed, his hair a mess. 

“Argh!” he suddenly yelled, blocking his eyes with his hand, “You're right! It’s a monster! Put it away!”

“Jason!” you giggled.

“Ah, there's the smile I was looking for,” he teased. 

You sniffled and wiped a tear away, all the while blushing. You leaned back on your pillows.

“Shit,” he suddenly cursed. 

“What?” 

“You look so pretty when you cry,” he told you. 

“That's what all guys say when they see a girl cry,” you rolled your eyes. 

“Only difference is I'm not lying,” he grinned. 

You smiled. He was so smooth. Too smooth for you to handle. He just knew the right things to say or do that made your mask slip and fall. 

“Anyway,” he continued, “Who were you planning to call originally? I don't want to stop you from calling them, or anything.” 

“No, it’s okay. I was just going to call my brother, Dick. But I don't need to now since you made me feel better already,” you explained. 

“Your brothers name is Dick?” he laughed. 

“His name is Richard,” you clarified. 

“Then why don't you call him Rick or something?” 

“Because he’s been called Dick since forever and now nothing else suits him,” you replied. You laughed at the prospect of calling him “Rick”, or God forbid, “Ric”. 

“I see,” he pondered, “Well, that’s unfortunate.” 

“Trust me, we make all the penis jokes,” you laughed.

“Good or else it'd be a waste of opportunity,” he paused, “You sure you’re feeling better?”

“Yeah I am,” you smiled, “Thanks to you.”

“I want to make it up to you. Let's do something fun. My treat,” he offered. 

“Make it up to me for what?” you asked. 

“Your favorite place getting destroyed?” he reminded you. 

“You don’t have to. It’s not your fault,” you pointed out. 

He pursed his lips for a second. 

“I know, but I still want to cheer you up. Get you smiling again,” he suggested, “You might still feel down tomorrow, so we can go wherever and whenever you like. Just give me a call.”

“Thank you. I'll consider it,” you hummed, “It's funny isn't it?”

“What is?”

“That I was only just telling you about how much I loved the place,” you recalled grimly, “Only for it to burn down a few hours later.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, “Life’s got a way to fuck with us all.”

“Agreed,” you sighed. 

You lied down on your side, propping up your phone against one of your pillows. Suddenly a wave of fatigue crashed on you. 

“You going to bed, doll?” he mirrored your actions. You couldn’t make out much of his background as it was too dim and pixelated. 

“Hmm, maybe,” you hummed sleepily, “Your covers are navy blue.”

“I guess it is,” he now spoke at a lower volume too. 

“My favorite color,” you mumbled, your eyes starting to droop. 

“Really? Didn’t know that,” he seemed surprised at that irrelevant piece of information.

“Mhmm. It reminds me of the night. And the deep sea,” you rambled on, “What’s your favorite color?”

“I don’t have one,” he said simply. 

“That’s okay too, I guess,” you stated, closing your eyes fully now. 

“Go to bed, sweetheart,” you heard Jason’s voice in the distance, “Sleep tight.”

Your sleep was dreamless that night. 

***

It was raining, yet Jason didn’t feel the usual shiver that went up his spine and rattled his bones. No, he felt warm, because you were in his arms. 

He had you against the alley wall, and you were wearing your Robin uniform- except the mask, soaked completely. Your nose was a little red, as were your eyes. 

How did he get here?

“Jason,” you were moaning, “Jason, I know it was you.”

“Of course it was, baby girl,” he replied, suckling the skin below your ear. He had his hands all over you, rubbing and pulling and squeezing- he couldn’t get enough. 

“You broke my heart, Jason,” you whined, biting your lip and pulling him closer by the jacket he was wearing. 

“That was the point, sweetheart,” he nibbled your ear, “Did you like it?”

“It’s funny isn’t it?” you said, “It’s just funny.”

“You look so pretty when you cry,” he told you as he grabbed your breasts, stealing a deep kiss from you. 

“I’m not crying,” you broke the kiss and grinded on his crotch, “It’s just funny.”

“Did you laugh?” he whispered, humping your body for some sort of friction. 

“Yeah, I did,” you giggled, “It’s all one big joke.”

“I want to fuck you,” he groaned. 

You laughed. 

“What’s so funny?” he pulled back. To his horror, your face had morphed into a distorted smile, with bloody red lips. 

“It’s all a big joke!” you laughed hysterically. 

Jason took a step back from you. Your face was now a pale white. Suddenly he felt a flash of white hot pain strike across his face, making him see stars. 

He opened his eyes and he was on the ground, looking up at the Joker who was holding a crowbar above his head, ready to strike for the second time. 

Jason woke up, breathing heavily and sweating. 

_A dream. It was all a dream._

Dreams involving the last few torturous moments of his death weren’t new, but they never involved you. 

This was the first dream he had of you. He wasn’t surprised that it was sexual in nature. 

He felt his heart race in his chest, and immediately he put a hand on his forehead, where Joker had strike the first time. 

He didn’t have any scars from that as the Lazarus Pit had healed any sort of injury he had. 

But he sometimes still felt like his head was split open whenever he was reminded of the Joker. 

He groaned. He didn’t want to think about that. 

Anything but that. 

No, he wanted to think of you more. He wanted to have you in his arms and pushed up against the alley wall just like his dream. 

A hand went to his crotch. He was already rock hard. 

He closed his eyes and remembered how you looked like when you were crying. You really did look gorgeous when you cried. The swollen red lips, the red nose, the watery red eyes. It really made him half hard when he saw you through the phone screen. 

And to think that he was the one who made you cry. 

It fueled his fantasies even more. 

He had hired- with a little threat to keep their mouths shut- three known arsonists to burn down that favorite library of yours. He told them he would deal with the fire alarm system. All they needed to do was to take the fall.

He couldn’t stick around to see your face when you saw it being consumed by the flames, but to his luck, you had called. And he heard how distraught you were, and shit, he wanted to palm himself then and there. 

Did he feel guilty when you told him it was your safe haven? 

He tried not to. 

He will forget about his guilt as soon as he comes to the thought of you crying. 

“I want to fuck you,” he groaned out loud as he squeezed his dick, repeating the words in his dream. He wanted to just lick, and lick, and _lick_. 

He wanted to touch your breasts, suck on your nipples, bite them. He wanted to make you forget about anything else but him. You lost your safe haven? He’ll be your haven. He’ll help you reach your high, a high that no one else can give you. 

He didn’t need to spit on his hands- his precum was more than enough to make his dick slick and slippery. 

He wanted to destroy your pretty face with his dick, making you gag and tear up as he rammed your throat. The wet sounds of him fucking his fist filled the room, as did his groans. Jason wasn’t a quiet guy. He liked to let himself go when he pleasured himself. 

He was going to cum soon. He imagined ejaculating all over your perfect- 

_Buzzzzz._

His phone vibrated, messing up his rhythm. 

“Fuck,” he swore. He slowed down, and took a look at his phone with his other hand. 

It was you. You had sent a good morning text. 

He quickly sent a reply, his other hand still working slowly on his leaking cock. 

He decided to be direct with you with what he was doing. It was a risky and bold move, but he knew what you were like already. 

He knew you wanted him just as badly. He could read you well. 

And he trusted his instincts. 

He found that talking to you while he was stroking himself did wonders, and he came in streams.

Okay. Jason had waited long enough. It was time to get serious. 

***

The minute you woke up the next day, you felt a pang of guilt in your chest. 

You had let your emotions get the better of you, and because of that, Bruce had to send you back. How would you deal with other things in the future? You knew at some point it would affect you personally, and you thought you would be ready for it. 

You failed as a Robin. 

You closed your eyes again and took a deep breath. You needed to apologize to your mentor, and make up for it somehow. 

You rubbed your eyes until the blur became clear, blinking away the sleep. You checked your phone. It was opened to your call with Jason the night before. 

Remembering what happened, you facepalmed yourself. Calling him unannounced and subjecting him to your stupid rambles was one thing, but to fall asleep while on call was just plain rude. 

Your mother brought you up better than that. 

You sent a quick text to him, hoping it wasn’t too early. 

You: _Good morning! I just remembered what happened last night. I’m so sorry for calling you so suddenly and crying! I’m also sorry for falling asleep on you. That was rude. I swear, I have manners!_

It took him about 30 seconds to reply. 

Sexy Hunk From Library: _It’s okay, princess. I told you I didn’t mind. You’re cute when you’re sleepy._

You: _You’re up early! You having breakfast?_

Sexy Hunk From Library: _I had a nice dream that woke me up. Now I’m just finishing it._

You were a bit confused at the last text he sent you, so you had to reread it a couple more times. 

You: _What was the dream about?_

Sexy Hunk From Library: _You._

You blushed. Had he really dreamt about you? And what did he mean by finishing it? 

You: _Ooooh, what was I doing in the dream?_

Sexy Hunk From Library: _It would be inappropriate for me to say._

It suddenly clicked.

You: _Oh._

Sexy Hunk From Library: _Mhmm._

You: _And you’re… Finishing it?_

Sexy Hunk From Library: _You betcha._

Does that mean he was… Masturbating as you were texting him? For some reason, the image immediately sent a heat to shoot straight to your core. You weren’t supposed to like it. You were supposed to be disgusted. Mother said you shouldn’t. 

You gulped. 

You: _I’ll leave you to it then._

Sexy Hunk From Library: _Thanks, princess. ;)_

You crossed and uncrossed your legs. If Jason could do it, why couldn’t you? You were sure any healthy female your age masturbated too. 

_Improper._

_Fuck you, mom. What was so proper about experimenting on innocent people?_ a thought in your head replied. 

You’ve tried touching yourself so many times, but you never went through with it. The voice at the back of your head that was nagging you stopped you all the time. 

It was because of the conditioning your parents performed on you during your childhood- the most impressionable years of your life. It was hard to break through from it and just be yourself. 

But you never stopped trying. 

In your head, if you successfully masturbated, it meant that you were one step closer to becoming free from the phantoms of your parents haunting your daily life. 

You slipped off your sleeping shorts and panties and spread your legs wide, relishing the cold air that brushed the softness of your nether parts. 

_You slut! What do you think you’re doing?!_ the voice screamed at you. 

You tried to distract yourself, thinking about Jason. Yes, Jason, who was probably doing the same thing you were. Yes, imagine Jason touching himself. What face he would make when he pleasured himself, or the sound that would escape his lips… 

You gasped when you felt how wet you were. 

_If anyone found out about this, they wouldn’t want you._

You forced yourself to focus on Jason. You had felt his lips on your forehead, gentle and soft. You imagined those very same lips on yours, prying your mouth open with his tongue.

You felt around for your clit. You knew where it was theoretically, and you have brushed on it accidentally before, but you never actively seeked for it. 

An involuntary moan escaped your lips when you found it. 

_Your father always said you were a whore._

You rubbed on it more, circling it, appreciating the heat it sent to your belly. You found it so amazing, that just by touching a part of your body could make you feel such pleasure. 

How would it feel if it was Jason’s hands on you now? Or Jason’s tongue? 

You blushed at the thought seeing Jason in between your legs, lapping at your clit.

How did an orgasm feel like? You’d like to know. You were determined. 

With your other hand, you spread your pussy lips apart, which exposed your clitoris even more. When you touched it with your finger, the sensation was much more intense. 

Another moan. 

_Worthless._

You focused on building the heat in your core. You found that sticking to a particular rhythm helped. You’ve read about it online. The key was consistency. 

You thought of Jason again, and the electricity could now be felt in your toes as they curled. 

You wanted him to touched your breasts like how Red Hood had. 

You gasped as the sudden thought of Red Hood made your pussy clench. 

Without warning, you were flooded with the thought of Red Hood groping your tits through your uniform roughly. Him grinding his hard cock on your ass. 

You felt a sensation in your core, a build that just kept on going higher, and higher, until waves of pleasure crashed onto you, your pussy fluttering. 

Shit. 

Was that an orgasm? 

Because that felt fucking amazing. 

You wanted to feel it again, all the time. How did you not know of this before? No wonder people liked to masturbate and have sex. 

But then the realisation came. 

The realisation that you just orgasmed to the thought of a villain groping you in a dark, smelly alley.

Where you bad for liking that? He was a murderer. A crime lord. You shouldn’t be remotely attracted to him. 

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath. 

“It’s okay, it’s perfectly normal,” you muttered to yourself, “You’re fine. This doesn’t make you a bad person.”

 _It makes you a whore,_ the voice returned. 

You swallowed. 

You liked being dirty- in your mother’s sense of the word. You liked feeling what you felt, and you wanted to feel it again. 

You wanted to feel Red Hood again. 

You shook the thought out of your head. You’ll deal with this later. For now, you needed to find Bruce and apologize for your unprofessional behavior the night before. 

*** 

“I’ll do every full shift of patrol for this whole week, even on school days!” you announced to Bruce, who was sitting at the dining table holding out a newspaper and a cup of coffee to his lips, his eyebrows raised and looking suspiciously amused. 

“I’ll also double my training time,” you bit your lip, trying to think of more things you can do to make up for the previous night. 

He looked at you for a bit, judging you with his calculative eyes, folded the paper and put down his cup. 

“Why do you feel you need to do that?” he asked. 

“Because I let my own personal feelings and emotions get the better of me, causing me to act out and stop functioning to the highest of my capabilities,” you expressed, “Hence, I need to make up for my inexcusable behavior.”

“So you already know what you did wrong?” 

“Yes, I do,” you nodded sternly. 

“I see,” he considered for a moment, “Sit down. Please.”

You immediately obeyed, pulling out a chair next to him. 

“How are you feeling this morning?” he questioned. 

“I feel just fine!” you smiled. 

“The truth,” he demanded. 

You sighed. 

“I still feel… sad,” you started, “And angry.”

You honestly wanted to hunt down the people who caused this and show them the real meaning of pain. You didn’t want to tell Bruce that. 

“But most of all, I feel guilty,” you continued, “Because I was too emotional.”

“Why is it wrong to be emotional when something affects you personally on the field?” he quizzed. 

“Because it makes you stop thinking straight,” you answered, “You make bad calls.”

“And what happens when you make bad calls?”

“Someone could get hurt,” you replied. 

“And how does one deal with emotions when something affects them personally?”

You paused, thinking of the correct answer. “Push it away?” 

“Experience,” he stated, “This is the first time you’ve felt like this. I’ve dealt with this a lot more times than I would like, an example being the night I found you.”

“But that was different,” you argued, “They poisoned you-”

“Yet they still died,” he interrupted, “Because I was emotional.”

You were silent. After all these years, he still blamed himself. 

“And with the Joker, right after… _him_ ,” Bruce took a deep breath and exhaled, “I almost killed him.” 

You looked into Bruce’s eyes. There was a lingering pain that hardly subsided when he talked about Todd. 

It made you jealous sometimes. 

You often compared yourself to the deceased Robin, wondering if you were better, wondering if Bruce trained you just to be like him. 

To use you to replace him. 

You found yourself wanting to outperform your predecessor, forever chasing a phantom of the past. Because the look that Bruce made when he talked about Todd showed how much he loved him, and you couldn’t help but wonder whether Bruce himself compared you to him. 

You were basically living in Todd’s shadow. 

“My point is,” Bruce continued, “When the time comes, you will get affected again, and again. The only thing you have to do then is think about what happens after. Hopefully, the repercussions will make you pause and think rationally. One moment of hesitation could take a life, but if you’re not thinking clearly at the time, the hesitation could save someone.”

“How did you stop yourself from killing Joker?” you whispered. 

“I thought about _him_ ,” he replied grimly. You knew that’s all you would ever get from Bruce at the time. 

*** 

“3 bodies found, beyond recognition, we’re waiting for dental records,” Gordon huffed in the cold night. 

The smell of roasted...pork. That’s what hit you first when you exited the Batmobile outside an old warehouse. You smelt the usual smoke too, but the smell of humans burnt to crisp- you shouldn’t admit it, but it made your stomach growl. 

And the passing thought make you almost gag. What a horrible thing to think. 

You gulped, looking at the 3 heaps of tangled, mangled, charred corpses layed out in individual body bags placed on the floor, unzipped so Batman could examine them. People said that the smell of burnt people would be horrible, and would linger for days. 

But when you showed up, all the hair and the fat had been burnt off already, leaving a smell similar to the black bits left on a pan after grilling bacon. Having been Robin for 2 years, you’d think that you would have seen everything. 

That simply wasn’t true. 

You would see the occasional dead body- shot, stabbed, strangled. Those were common, and those you were used to. Most nights you met not psychopaths, but mostly junkies, petty criminals, and mafia members. 

People like Zsaz or Pyg were very uncommon, and the closest you’ve gotten to the Joker was a view from the Batmobile when Batman had locked you in, refusing to allow you to pursue the Joker, or let him lay his eyes on you. 

Scenes like the one in the club, or the one before you- those were enough to make you remember for a while. 

“It’s just a rumour, but I heard that this place was a base for the Ibenescus’ human trafficking operations, though they don’t keep the girls here,” Gordon continued. 

“I thought the Ibenescus’ were killed by the Red Hood at the club?” you voiced out. 

“Those were the brothers,” Gordon nodded, “But their operation is massive, it spans far beyond the family. I suspect this is only one of their branches.”

“Hmm,” Batman simply said. 

“Commissioner- oh, Batman!” a handsome firefighter approached you. He was tall, obviously fit and athletic, and covered in soot. He looked especially good since he was wearing his uniform. He couldn’t be that much older than you were. 

_Shit, get your mind out of the gutter. There are literally dead bodies in front of you._

“Just want to report that the doors were all locked from the outside, and there were scratches from inside the room that the victims were in,” he said in a serious manner, posture erect and face stoic. 

“Jesus Christ,” Gordon sighed, “Thank you, Parks.”

“No problem, Commish, Batman,” he paused when he looked at you, “Robin.”

You gave him a dazzling smile, making him blush as he turned to walk away. 

“The underground is going crazy,” the commissioner complained, taking out a cigarette from his box. 

“What do you mean?” you asked. 

“There’s been a lot of unusual activity from the gangs,” he explained after taking a drag, “Some of them are going into hiding, some of them are recruiting more people. And some of them are apparently working together with Red Hood.”

You frowned. 

“Well, working _under_ him would be more accurate,” he corrected himself, “Anyway, Batman. My informant has been telling me that a lot of them are more scared of him than they are of you.”

You looked at Batman beside you, expressionless as usual. 

“You think he did this?” Gordon asked. 

“Perhaps,” Batman replied, “But there’s no evidence. More investigation is needed.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Gordon waved, “Just letting you know.”

“Thank you,” Batman said and turned away towards the car. 

You followed behind him, but turned around to the Commissioner, pointing silently at his cigarette and then towards the ground. 

He hesitantly took it out of his mouth and snuffed it out with his shoe. 

You narrowed your eyes at him, pointing two fingers at your eyes and then back at him. _I’ve got my eye on you, Commissioner._

He rolled his eyes at you and then looked back at the 3 bodies on the ground. 

*** 

“Where is Red Hood?” Batman bellowed, his loud thunderous voice echoing in the narrow alley. He was your adoptive father and even _you_ jump whenever he makes that voice. 

“W-wouldn’t tell you even if I knew!” the scrawny man with bloodshot eyes shouted, the gun he was pointing at Batman trembled in his hands. 

Batman growled, and approached him fast. He panicked and started shooting, all bullets missing their target. Batman knocked the gun out of his hands easily, and then knocked him to his knees.

You smirked. You always enjoyed watching interrogations. You were sitting above the two of them, appreciating the view from the fire escape staircase on the outside of the building. 

“Red Hood’s location, now!” Batman roared in his face. 

“I- I’m telling you man, I couldn’t say,” he stuttered. 

Batman took him by the hair and shoved him against the alley wall harshly. 

“Your loyalty is suspicious,” Batman grit. 

“It’s not- I’m not loyal to Red Hood,” he sputtered, “You- you don’t know what he’ll do to people who rat him out. Please.”

“You don’t know what I’ll do to you if you don’t,” Batman threatened. 

“N-no- no offence, Batman,” the man gulped, “But it wouldn’t be as bad as Red Hood.”

Batman growled again, and turned him around, twisting his arm behind him. 

“Ow, ow,” he cried, “Please. Please, he’ll kill me.”

Batman put more pressure. 

“He _tortures_ people,” the man sobbed, “I’m just a worker for Moehler. Please. I _saw_ what happened at the club. Please.”

“On the count of three, if you don’t tell me, I will break your arm,” Batman barked. 

Only sobs came out of the man. 

“One.”

“Please. He will torture me if he finds out.”

“Two.”

“He will cut off my tongue the way he did with Stewie! Please, Batman!”

“Thr-”

“Okay, okay!” he wailed, “Okay, I’ll tell you!”

Batman released him, and he slumped to the ground, sobbing hysterically. 

You frowned. It usually didn’t take that long for them to spill to Batman. They usually would cry, but not the way this man was. He was scared, he was beyond terrified. 

And not of Batman. 

“I- I don’t,” he hiccuped, “I don’t know where his base is.”

Batman fumed, attempting to pick him up again. 

“Wait, wait!” he cried, “There’s a meeting!”

Batman stopped in his tracks. “What. Meeting?”

“An- an exchange,” the man choked, “With Moehler’s German connections. At Dixon Docks. Five days from now. Midnight.”

“If you’re lying-” Batman began. 

“I’m not, I swear!” he begged, “I overheard Moehler discussing it. Weapons or something. Red Hood is taking 40 percent profit and something of his choice. Moehler was complaining.”

Your eyebrows shot up. 40 percent profit? From the Moehler family? Was he crazy? 

You didn’t want to admit how impressed you were. Over the span of a week, he already scared half the Gotham underground and had some sort of control over one of the most notable crime families in the drugs and weapons trade. 

“Please,” the man begged, “Take me in. Give me to the police. If Red Hood finds out I snitched- prison would be better than out here. Please, Batman.”

The man would rather spend years in prison rather than be caught by Red Hood. Just what kind of a psychopath was he?

You suddenly understood the danger you were in during those one on one fights with him. 

Did it mean that he went easy on you on purpose?

You were now watching Batman tie up the man and call in the police to the location to book him. 

“One more thing,” Batman started, “Did he start the warehouse fire?”

“I- I can’t be sure,” the man gulped, “But some say he did.”

“Why?”

“Red Hood- he’s got his rules,” he explained, “If you break them, you’re gone. They must have broken a rule.”

You hopped down from above, landing right behind Batman gracefully and almost silently. 

“What rules?” you asked. 

“Somethin’ about human trafficking and dog fights,” he spilled. 

Red Hood didn’t let his people traffic humans and animals?

It didn’t make sense to you. Why would someone like him have a moral conscience? 

“What are you thinking about?” Batman asked you in the Batmobile as he was driving you home. 

“Red Hood and his rules,” you wondered out loud, “That’s a bit weird, isn’t it?”

“Why do you think so?”

“Because all this while, I thought he was a psychopath,” you admitted, “I grew up with two of them. I tend to be able to tell. From non-criminal psychopathic behavior like some of your CEO partners, to the more Hannibal Lecter kinds. Red Hood at first seems to have his own goals and would do anything to achieve them.”

“Go on,” Batman prompted.

“I’m thinking…” you hesitated, “Human trafficking- you get a lot of money. A psychopath would ignore all the moral transgressions just for money. But he… has _empathy_. He’s not a psychopath in that sense.”

“Why did you think he was a psychopath in the first place?”

“Well, look at what he did to the Ibanescus’. He didn’t have an ounce of empathy or sympathy,” you thought back, “But now I see that it’s because he despises human traffickers. He doesn’t see them as people. His own set of morality which is existent due to his compassion for women, children, and animals- enables him to switch it off.”

“So what are his goals?”

“Well... Not money. So my first guess would be… Control!” you realised, “He doesn’t care about the money, he just wants some form of control of the underworld.”

“Why?” 

“I don’t know,” you frowned. People wanted to control and dominate the underworld usually due to money as motivation. Red Hood showing compassion and empathy threw you off. 

“Some people don’t need a motivation,” Bruce told you, “They just do it because they think they can.”

“Then is he really bad?” you dared to ask in a small voice.

Batman side-eyed you. 

“I mean!” you quickly backtracked, “He seems to only be killing criminals- the worst kinds,too. And most of them are scared of him now. Plus, since he doesn’t care about the money, perhaps he wouldn’t go as far as other crime lords would-”

“Robin,” Batman interrupted you with a stern voice. 

You kept silent. 

“Murder is murder regardless of who the victim is,” Batman said, “Red Hood has been torturing, murdering, stealing, and burning down buildings. To what extent do you think that compassion you think he has would go?”

“What do you mean?”

“How far would he use fear mongering? Do you not think he could one day threaten Andrei  
Ibenescu’s innocent 10-year old daughter just to make him stop trafficking?” he explained. 

You didn’t think of that. It was hard to remember that these disgusting criminals had innocent loved ones. 

“How far would he go to exert his principles and morality onto the underworld?”

 _Some might say the same thing about you, Batman,_ you silently thought in your head. 

“There’s a reason why I don’t kill,” he brought up as if he read your mind, “There must always be a line you shouldn’t cross. You may think Red Hood has a line, but it’s not good enough.” 

He was right. You shouldn’t start feeling sorry for a villain. He was a criminal. Look at what he did to the Ibenescus’. 

Look at what he did to the Ibenescus’. 

You needed to remind yourself of that horrible imagery in the club, and the smell. You had to remember that Red Hood was _not_ like you or Batman. You don’t even know what his true motives were. 

You couldn't afford to sympathize with him.


	7. Queasy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You're becoming more confident as you learn to ignore the haunting voices of your past. Meanwhile, Jason is succeeding with his plans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the wait! This is my longest chapter by far and I've put my all into this. This chapter contains sexual content, gore, torture, and violence.

One would assume that the docks would smell like the sea. 

Wrong. 

It smelt like shit. Literally. 

A lot of Gotham’s sewage ended up in the sea , and trash that wasn’t from the sewage ended up there as well. Gothamites liked to pollute, and it made the docks smell. 

But if you held your breath and closed your eyes, it still _sounded_ like the sea. 

The crashing waves, the sound of the breeze ruffling your hair, the rapid gunfire- 

Oh right. 

You were in the middle of crashing Red Hood’s illegal shipment party. 

Dodging a rain of bullets, you hopped across some shipment crates towards a group of hired guns to incapacitate them with a flying kick. You hit the large muscly man- who was wearing sunglasses at night, for some reason- flat in the chest with one leg. With your other, you kicked aside the weapon in his hand, which flew straight into his partner’s head, making him stumble backwards. 

Taking the two of them down, and looking back at the other eight unconscious bodies behind you that you had dealt with in under two minutes, you took a deep breath and smiled to yourself for you excellent work, before running off to where Bruce was. 

Bruce had went on ahead to confirm the shipment and catch Red Hood, well, red handed, while you covered his back and deal with security. 

You ran past the crates and metal containers that created a maze.

“Robin,” you heard Batman’s breathless voice in your ear, “Shipment is confirmed, call GCPD.”

“Okay, I’m coming your way,” you replied. 

You dialled GCPD on your phone. 

“Suspected terrorist attack at Dixon Docks.”

You hung up. Terrorist attacks always made the police rush more. 

Finally, you heard the sound of gunshots get louder and you turned a corner to see Batman’s looming dark figure in a direct fight with Red Hood. 

“Where’s Robin, B? Got bored of her already? Throw her away like the two before her?” Red Hood jabbed, dodging a punch from Batman. 

All Batman did was growl and never stopped attacking. 

“When are you going to tell her that she’s disposable? It’s not good to keep stringing women along, you know?” he poked, “Especially those you call your children.”

Batman succeeded in tripping him, making Red Hood stumble backwards for just a second. A shout distracted you from the fight, making your head snap in the direction of Moehler barking at his workers to hurry with loading wooden crates onto the back of a truck a few feet away. 

You ran past Batman and Red Hood and towards the two men who were loading the last crate. 

“Ah, there she is!” you heard Red Hood chuckle. 

You were almost there, you needed to stop them before they could drive off with the weapons. Suddenly, you felt something grip your ankle, making you trip forward. 

It was as if you were falling in slow motion, the ground slowly approaching your face. The next millisecond you heard a loud bang, and felt a sharp pain at your right earlobe. 

As you broke your fall as to not hit your face, you realized that the thing around your ankle was Red Hood’s grappling hook, wound tightly to stop you from approaching your goal. 

Struggling to get up, you felt a wave of disappointment crash onto you when you heard the sound of the truck’s engine start, and the tyres screech as it hurried to drive away. Before it could escape your view, you threw a tracking device you had attached to the armor of your uniform at the truck, which you saw suddenly bounce away as Red Hood shot it out of reach of the truck from behind you. 

He ran from Batman’s attacks and towards the port, jumping onto a speedboat, and the two of you silently watched as he gave you the middle finger, while Moehler drove the speedboat away. 

You untangled yourself from the wire around your leg and stood up, watching his figure get smaller and smaller into the darkness. That fucker actually gave you the middle finger. You could scoff at how juvenile it was if it weren’t for the fact that you were blaming yourself for letting the truck get away. 

“You’re bleeding,” Batman’s gravelly voice made you jump. 

You touched your right ear, and winced. You were sure a bullet had grazed it when Red Hood tripped you earlier. 

“Huh,” you stared at the blood on your fingers, “I didn’t even notice.”

“You called Gordon?”

“Anonymous tip to GCPD,” you informed. 

“Terrorist attack?” 

“How did you know?” you smirked. 

“You’re predictable.”

“Ouch,” you faked, “Someone’s in a bad mood.”

You glanced at him, earning yourself a scowl. 

“It was like he knew my moves,” Batman suddenly expressed, “Like he’s familiar with me.”

“Sounded like he’s also familiar with my predecessors too,” you added. 

Batman stayed silent. 

“On top of the fact that he’s very familiar with my uniform,” you continued, “He seemed to know the moment I reached for my shoulder that I was going to throw a tracker at the truck and shot it out of the way. Not to mention that signal button a while back too.”

More silence. 

“And the fact that he knows we’re your children,” you pointed out, “Which means that you have to assume he knows all our identities.”

A clenched jaw. 

“Do you know who he is?” you narrowed your eyes at him. 

Nothing.

“I trust you to know which information you tell me- or don’t tell me- is beneficial to me or harmful,” you lectured him in frustration, “Which means I’m not going to go digging around. So you better tell me when you figure things out. Trust goes both ways, Batman.”

“I’ll deal with the police.”

Sure enough, you heard the sirens slowly approaching. You glanced again at the dark sea, illuminated poorly by the distant city lights and the hidden moon, wondering who was under the red helmet, and what he meant by ‘disposable’. 

*** 

Jason fired one loud bullet into the ground, breaking the chaotic commotion that came with unloading the crates in one of Moehler’s warehouse turned into base operations. He watched down at them from a raised platform, the two dozen or so hired by Moehler stopped what they were doing and turned to him, along with Moehler and some of his associates- mainly relatives. 

“How many did we manage to get?” Jason asked. 

“All of them, Red Hood,” a tall brute with distasteful face tattoos answered smugly. 

“But just barely,” Jason snapped. 

Jason felt the mood subtly shift. They knew why he was mad, and now, he could smell their fear. 

“Can anyone tell me how Batman knew?” he calmly asked. 

Everyone was avoiding eye contact with him, looking either at each other or their own feet. 

“When I find out you know how this information got leaked, and trust me, I _will_ find out, I will come after you and your family,” he simply shrugged, “So someone better step up and confess. Right. Now.”

Jason waited for 3 seconds, and then- 

“It was Dave,” a bald brute stepped closer to him, the head of Moehler’s security detail, “We heard that he got arrested last week. It must have been him.”

“One of your own got arrested, and knowing that our meeting could have been compromised, you decided to keep quiet?” Jason articulated. 

The man gulped, “We- we didn’t know for sure.”

“Didn’t know for sure?” Jason started chuckling softly, before pointing his gun at the man, “Tell me why I shouldn’t gun you down for your incompetence. Or are you still unsure?”

“His wife called and told me she hadn’t heard from him in three days,” his eyes now wide and pleading, “Only yesterday we confirmed that he had been arrested, but that’s about it. Our inside man said that the arrest report said he was arrested for public urination. We didn’t think much of it then.”

Jason thought for a split second, deciding whether or not to kill him. 

No, it wasn’t a strategic move. The story sounded genuine, and if he killed too many people without actual cause, everyone would start to hate him and could want to start a coup. He needed to be specific about his rules. 

He put down his gun and started chuckling, earning a sigh of relief from the man before him. He gripped the mans shoulder and squeezed hard- showing both friendliness and threat. 

“Fine, we all make mistakes, right?” Jason laughed. 

“Y-yeah,” he stuttered, “Sorry, boss.”

“Just be sure not to overlook things like this again,” Jason warned and gave him a hard pat on the back, “Now, I have another issue to address.”

The relief of the room just now was turned into tension again. 

“Who was the brave man who shot at Robin to stop her from getting to the trucks?” Jason asked, “I have a reward for him! A token of courage, if you will.”

“It was me, boss,” the same man with the inked face answered proudly. 

“Oh, it was you, huh?” Jason grit, “What’s your name again?”

“Snake, sir.”

“Snake?” he burst out laughing, “Okay, okay. What are you waiting for, Snake? Get up here!”

Snake strutted to Jason’s side, smirking all the way. Jason put an arm over his shoulder. 

He saw that some of the others were already shaking their heads at their colleague’s ignorance. 

“So Snake,” he started, “You were really brave tonight. You know why?”

“Because I tried to stop Robin?” he answered. 

“Yes,” Jason agreed, “In fact, you _shot_ at her, am I right?”

“Yeah, I did,” he grinned. 

“Even when I specifically ordered everyone not to?” Jason asked softly. 

Snake tensed. 

“If I remember correctly,” Jason announced to his audience, “I said that anyone who tries to kill or harm Robin without my orders will be severely punished, didn’t I?”

Silence. 

“DIDN’T I?!” he bellowed. 

A mumble of “Yes’s” and “Yeah’s” were heard. 

“Thank you,” he said sarcastically, “Now, my fellow associates, what should I do with our buddy Snake here?”

No one dared answer him. 

It didn’t matter. Jason already knew what he had to do. 

“Oh, right,” he pretended to remember, “I was going to give you a token of my appreciation.”

BANG. BANG. 

A loud wail came from Snake. He fell to the ground and started crying and screaming. Jason could hardly blame him. He did just shoot both his kneecaps. 

“What do you say to daddy, Snake?” Jason stepped on one of his knees, “Daddy gave you a gift, didn’t he?”

“F-FUCK YOU!”

Jason shot at his elbow, making him scream even louder. “Manners!”

“T-thank y-you,” Snake gasped in between sobs. 

“Didn’t quite catch that.”

“Thank y-”

BANG. 

Jason gave him a gift right between his eyes.

Whenever Jason killed, he didn’t feel better or worse. Killing was just part of the job, just merely strategic for him. 

But killing the guy who almost killed you if it wasn’t for the fact that he pulled you down and made you trip using the grappling hook he had? 

He felt better. 

He took a deep breath. 

“Whoever defies my direct order again, will get worse than this fucker!” he yelled, “No one touches Robin but me. Even if it means you get taken down, you don’t. Shoot. At. Her. GOT IT?!”

“Yes, sir!”

“Good. Now someone clean this up,” he nudged the body with his foot, “Before the shit comes out.”

The part he hated most about killing and disposing of bodies was when the muscles relax and he has to deal with shit and urine that comes out. Not everyone will shit and urinate themselves when they die- it depends on whether they were holding it in to begin with- but when it _does_ happen, it’s disgusting. 

And Snake looks like he’s just full of shit. Whatever. He’s glad he has people to do the dirty job for him now. 

“Moehler,” he growled, “I need to speak to you.”

Jason hopped off the platform and walked straight to the straw haired American-German man. 

“Where are we with Black Mask?” he asked. 

Roman Sionis. He was one of the defiant ones who refused to work together with Red Hood. Black Mask used to own all these gangs; Moehler’s, Ibenescus’- and Jason had snatched them from underneath his nose. 

He wasn’t happy about it. 

“Still putting out hits on you,” he gruffly stated, “And also taking down my men.”

“Why haven’t you dealt with him yet?” Jason hissed through the voice scramble of his helmet. 

“He’s got a whole armory, boss,” Moehler complained, “And many men who are still loyal to him.”

“They’re not loyal, they’re afraid,” Jason corrected, “I’ll deal with him.”

“Let me know if you need help,” Moehler added. 

Jason had already picked out what he wanted beforehand, as per agreement with Moehler, and all he has to do is bring it back with him to his safehouse. The rest of the weapons were to be sold to various gangs or anyone who was interested, and he would take 40 percent profits, as per agreement with Moehler. 

Besides Batman’s interference that night, everything was going smoothly. Yet, he was stressed. 

He needed to blow off steam. 

Ah, right. It was time to enter phase 2 of his plan. 

***

You fell on the comfort of your bed, and looked at the time. It was nearly three in the morning. You stretched like a cat, relieving your body from the aches and pains. You had already showered and refreshed yourself, along with slapping a bandaid on your grazed ear. It wasn’t too deep. 

You checked your phone, and saw that Sexy Hunk From Library had left you a text about half an hour ago. 

Sexy Hunk From Library: _You up?_

You grinned. 

You: _Yes! Hi._  
Sexy Hunk From Library: _Hello. I thought you were already asleep._  
You: _Nope. Just on Netflix. As usual._  
Sexy Hunk From Library: _Let’s get on video._

Your heart raced at his directness. Before this he would ask you politely, or played coy with you. But now he wasn’t asking you if you wanted to get on video, he told you to. 

And you liked it. 

You took the initiative and dialled him first. 

“Hey,” you heard his warm, yet tired voice first before you got the video feed and saw him lying on his bed. 

Shirtless. 

You gulped. 

“Hey, you,” you smiled. You were sitting upright, your knees brought to your chest as you leaned against your propped up pillows. 

“You hurt yourself again?” you saw him frown. His room was dark, and his face illuminated by the light from his phone. 

“Oh, this?” you automatically touched your ear pinna where the bandaid was, “Yeah, I made an impulsive and stupid decision to pierce my cartilage at a really dodgy looking shop, now that I think about it. It got infected.”

For some reason, Jason thought it was funny, because he burst into a laughing fit. 

“I-I’m sorry,” he choked, “Stupid decision indeed.”

“Hey!” you giggled, “Like you’ve never made a stupid decision in your entire life.”

“You caught me,” he conceded. 

“Well, what was it? What’s the most stupid thing you have done in your entire life?” you demanded. 

“Hmm,” you saw him bite his lower lip as he thought about it. You licked yours. “Well, I’ve done many stupid things. One of them is not going to that library sooner. I could have gotten to know you way beforehand.”

You blushed. “You know, I’ve never actually asked you what your age was.”

“My age?” he laughed, “Why? Do I look old?”

“No, no,” you quickly denied, “I’m just curious.”

“Guess how old I am.”

“Twenty-four?” you guessed. 

“Woah, back up a few years,” he shook his head. 

“Twenty-two?” you tried again. 

“Close,” he nodded, “I’m twenty-one this year.”

“Argh, so close!” you said.

“How about you, princess?”

“I’m eighteen this year,” you told him. 

“Phewh!” he gave an exaggerated sigh of relief, “Thank God for that.”

“Why?” you giggled, “Any specific reason why you would be relieved that I’ll be legal this year?”

“Of course,” he answered as a matter-of-factly, “There are so many reasons why I would be relieved.”

“Like?” you prompted. 

“Like, I want to get into your pants?” he said bluntly, causing you to laugh out loud. 

“Very direct, Jason,” you chuckled, “No sugar-coating at all.”

“Why would I?” he raised an eyebrow, “You should already know that I like you. You’re smart, beautiful, funny, not to mention hella clumsy.”

“Clumsy?” you shrilled. 

“Yeah, I mean, for some reason you always get injuries. That cut on your forehead, now the infected ear,” he listed down, “I'm pretty sure if I got to know you longer I'd have more to add.”

“And that's a turn on for you?” you skeptically asked.

“No, but it makes for good entertainment,” he grinned, “But in all seriousness, you’re amazing.”

“Thank you,” you blushed, “You’re not too bad yourself. But actually…”

“What?”

“The legal age of consent for sex in Gotham is seventeen,” you stated, “So you shouldn’t have had to worry too much. Unless you thought that I was younger than that.”

“Huh. Didn’t know that,” he responded, “And hold up. There’s no way I would have thought you were younger than that. You’re too… developed.”

“Developed?” you laughed, “Interesting choice of words.”

“What can I say?” his expression changed, his voice lower, “I’ve stared more than I should.”

Oh, you were really blushing this time. 

Not to mention the heat that shot down between your legs. 

“Naughty,” you teased, “Unfortunately for me, all you wear are baggy hoodies so I can’t exactly stare back.”

“Hmm,” he hesitated for a while, and then raised his phone up high, so it could capture the rest of his shirtless upper body. 

You tried to keep your reaction cool, because even in the dim light, you could see his ripped body. His pecs looked hard, and his abs- you wanted to lick them. 

Your favourite part was the V that cut into his pants, teasing what was underneath. 

“So what do you think?” he winked. 

“Uhm,” you gulped, “Very nice.”

“Very descriptive,” he chuckled, and then brought his phone back down, “Your turn, sweetheart.”

“My turn?” you panicked. 

You weren’t exactly wearing the sexiest choice of pyjamas. It Dick’s old and faded Superman t-shirt with shorts. 

“Yeah, your turn,” he pressed, “I wanna see what you wear to bed.”

“O-okay,” you answered. 

_Slut._ Your mother was back. 

You straightened your knees and gave Jason a view of your upper body. 

“Nice t-shirt,” he said stiffly. You thought you saw his jaw clench. “Superman fan?”

“It’s my brother’s. I’m more of a Batman and Robin fan,” you answered, smiling to yourself at the inside joke. 

“I can see your nipples,” he pointed out. 

Your eyes widen. Right, you weren't wearing your bra, so he would have been able to see them poking through the soft cotton. You brought your phone back closer to you. 

“Aw, don’t be shy,” he smiled devilishly, “I think it’s hot.”

“I think you’re hot,” you blurted. 

_Whore._

“Very direct, angel,” he mocked your previous choice of words, “Oh yeah. Remember last week I said I had a dream about you?”

Oh, you remembered very well. “Uh-huh.”

“Well,” he began, “Wanna know what it was about?”

“I do, actually,” you bit your lip, “I was curious. Especially after you said that you were… finishing it.”

“It’s inappropriate,” he reminded you. 

“I know.”

“Which means it was sexual,” he stated. 

“It’s okay.”

“Well, we were at the library,” he started without hesitation, “At the bookshelves. I had you against one of them, and you were in my arms.”

“What were we doing?” you prompted. 

“I had my tongue in your mouth,” he smirked, “And I was touching you.”

You were rubbing your thighs together, and you realised you were breathing slightly faster. 

“Where?” you pressed on. 

“Your tits,” his voice was now husky, “Your hair. Everywhere.”

“Oh.”

“Want me to go on?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, your free hand secretly cupping your sex underneath your shorts. 

This was all new to you. Very new. You have wanted this so bad. You wanted to be naughty and inappropriate with boys you found attractive, but mother always stopped you. 

It was too late for mother to stop you now. 

“You were grinding against my dick,” he went on, “It felt really good.”

“I bet,” you grinned. 

“Princess, are you really trying to be smart with me while I’m talking dirty to you?” he reprimanded lightly. 

“It depends,” you shrugged.

“On what?”

“Whether or not you have your other hand down your pants like I do,” you boldly stated.

Jason really had the power to completely take off your mask, making you expose your true self to him. The one you had so desperately tried to hide from your parents, your peers, your family. Maybe it was the fact that he was basically a complete stranger that you could just cut off after. Maybe it was the fact that he didn’t know you enough to judge you. 

Whatever the reason was, it made you more confident, which evidently caught Jason off guard because of his current shocked expression. 

Which turned into a much darker, and sinister one. 

“Caught me,” he gave a side smile, “I’m really hard right now. Been hard after I saw your nipples.”

You let a finger between your pussy lips and felt that you were soaking. 

“Oh,” you raised your eyebrows. 

“What?”

“I’m wet,” you grinned at him. 

“Fuck,” he breathed, “Do you wanna like, you know?”

“Wanna what?” you teased. 

“Wanna touch yourself with me,” he continued, “You don’t have to show me anything. Just, let yourself loose.”

You pondered for a while. 

The masked you would never _ever_ do anything of this sort. But you figured that there was no harm in letting your mask slip completely from time to time if it wasn’t hurting anyone. 

Besides, you’ve _always_ wanted to do this. 

You leaned back completely on the propped pillows, the camera on your phone only framing your head and your upper chest. You took off your shorts and spread your legs, brushing against your clit with a finger. 

You moaned softly. 

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he concluded excitedly. You saw that he was moving, busy with something using his other hand which was out of frame. 

“Are you taking off your pants, Jason?” you asked. 

“Yep,” he simply replied, “Aand, there. My dick is now free from its confinement.”

You giggled, now looking at him. His camera also framed his face and upper chest. His eyes were closed and you could see the corners of his lips slightly upturned. 

He let out a short yet deep moan. 

You bit your lip and started circling your clit. 

“So, where was I?” he opened his eyes, “Oh, right. You were grinding on my dick. And, you were even begging me.” 

“Begging you?” you sighed in pleasure.

“Y-yeah,” he confirmed, “You were begging me to hurry up and fuck you.” 

His voice was sensual. The way his words rolled off his tongue was smooth like butter. You loved it when he said the F word. It sounded sexy. 

“And did you?” you desperately asked. 

“Not yet,” he told you, “No, I wanted to tease you more, so I just started finger fucking you-” 

“ _Oh_ ,” you sighed.

For some reason, you remembered when Red Hood stuck out his middle finger at you earlier. You imagined that very same long, thick finger inserting itself into your pussy. You tried to shove that thought away.

“Are you the loud type or the quiet type, Princess?” 

“I’m not too sure,” you admitted, “I was never in any situation where I needed to be quiet or loud.” 

“Means that we just have to find out, huh?” he teased. 

“Yeah,” you nodded, “Yeah, i’d like that.” 

There was a moment of silence where the both of you were just enjoying the pleasure you were giving yourselves, looking at each others expressions on screen and listening to the heavy pants of each others laboured breathing.

“What happened next?” you prompted. 

“Your begging was too much to handle, so I started fucking you,” he continued, “You were loud.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah. In fact, even if you're the quiet type, I don't think you'll be able to stay quiet if I'm the one fucking you, sweetheart,” he said. 

“Mmm,” you hummed, lost in the fantasy of Red Hood fucking you hard until you screamed. 

Jason. You meant Jason. 

“I was- mmm- I was super stressed out today,” he explained, eyes closed. You could see one shoulder and the top of his bicep making small movements, probably stroking his cock. 

You wanted to see his cock so bad. 

“What happened?” you breathed. 

“Long story,” he grunted, “A colleague annoyed me. I don’t want to talk about it right now.”

You understood, and also made a mental reminder to ask Jason what he was working as while waiting to apply for the police force. 

“Then what- what do you want to talk about, Jason?” you asked, pleasure slowly building up, heat spreading from your core to the rest of you. 

You’ve never been that turned on in your entire life. Granted, you never put yourself in any situations that would have aroused you. You’ve never seen porn.

But you knew that at that moment in time, you were horny as hell. 

“I want to talk about how perfect I think your tits would look like,” he said, “If they were bouncing in front of me right now while you ride me.”

You moaned loudly at his words. He was good at dirty talk. You liked it very much. 

You wondered if Red Hood liked your tits, since he got to grope them quite a bit.

“You sound sexy,” he commented. 

“So do you,” you replied, “Fuck, Jason. I’m so horny.”

“Me too, princess. Me too,” he agreed, “I really want to fuck you.”

His eyes were hooded, looking at you through his own screen. You saw that his arm movements were getting faster. 

“I want to lick your cock,” you said, before laughing to yourself. 

“What’s so funny?” he asked, a smile appearing on his lips. 

“I never thought I’d actually say that to someone,” you confessed.

“There's always a first for everything, angel,” he jested, “Hmm, now you've put the mental image of me fucking your mouth in my head.” 

“And how does that image look?” 

“Looks like I can come to that image alone.”

“Mmm, I think I’m getting close.”

You started speeding up, feeling all your juices leak and spread onto the whole of your pussy. 

“I want to hear you come,” he groaned, and picked up the pace and force. You knew, because you heard a sound coming from Jason’s end. 

A wet, slapping sound.

“Jason, your dick sounds are really hot,” you panted. 

“Your expressions are really hot,” he responded, “Also your moans.”

“Mmm, Jason,” you breathed, “I think I’m-”

You felt a tightening in your core as you sped up your rhythm, your eyes closed shut and your mouth open in a silent scream. You built and built and built until- 

“Fuck! Red!” you cried as you felt your pussy flutter and you reached your peak. 

“Shit, fuck- ah!” he gasped. You opened your eyes immediately to see him with an almost angry frown and biting his lip too hard. 

You felt your clit tingle when you saw him in that expression. 

He opened his eyes and let out a long sigh. 

“That felt good,” he panted. 

“Yeah,” you giggled. 

“Red?” he asked, looking amused. 

“What?” you asked, confused. 

“When you came, you said- well, moaned- Red,” he pointed out. 

“Did I?” you panicked. You really didn't have any control over yourself when you were at that state of ecstasy. “You must have misheard me. Why would I moan a colour?” 

“You tell me,” he smirked, a twinkle in his eye.

“I really don't know what to say,” you denied.

What the fuck? You _moaned_ Red, as in Red Hood? 

“I guess random things slip out when people come. It's fine. But I’d like to do that again, baby girl,” he smiled sleepily at you. 

_Baby girl._

“Me too, but, uhm,” you mumbled, “Please don’t call me that? Everything else is fine.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he hurriedly apologised, “I didn’t realise-”

“No, it’s fine,” you shook your head, “It’s just that- this guy I really despise likes to call me that. If you call me that, you’ll remind me of him.”

“I get it,” he frowned, “Why don’t you tell him to stop?”

“He won’t listen,” you almost laughed at the prospect of Red Hood apologising for calling you that. 

“Who is he?”

“Some jackass I ran into and for some reason won’t leave me alone,” you rolled your eyes. 

“That sounds serious,” he pointed out, “Is he a stalker? Why don’t you go to the police?”

You snorted. 

“What?”

“Uh, sorry,” you mentally slapped yourself, “I mean, I don’t think the police can do anything about this guy.”

“Why, is he like the president or something?” he raised an eyebrow. 

“Or something,” you revealed vaguely.

Jason looked genuinely concerned about your safety. You found that so sweet. You might actually consider a long term relationship with him. 

“Well if you see him when we’re out together, tell me, because I’ll beat him up for you,” he assured you. 

You thought about what would happen if Jason and Red Hood got into a fight and resisted chuckling to yourself. 

“Of course. I won’t even stop you,” you humoured him. 

“Good,” he yawned.

“You should go to bed,” you yawned back. 

“Mmkay,” he mumbled, eyes drooping, “I’ll text you in the morning, okay?”

“Okay,” you acknowledged. 

“Goodnight, princess. Sweet dreams.”

“Goodnight, handsome,” you winked, and ended the call. 

You sighed and lied down, staring at the ceiling. 

It was definitely a different feeling, doing it with another person over video call. Jason had a way with words, making your experience even more intensefully heightened. 

You enjoyed yourself a lot, but after ending the call with him and rethinking about everything, you suddenly felt a wave of guilt crash over you. 

_Because you just whored yourself out, you pathetic bitch!_

There she was again. 

You wondered if you could ever get rid of her.

You buried your face in your pillow and tried your best to ignore the haunting voice of your mother in your head. 

You felt guilty for thinking of Red Hood too. This would have been the second time you orgasmed to him. And you’ve only orgasmed twice anyway, which meant that you’ve orgasmed to him every single time you masturbated, which meant that you couldn’t orgasm to anyone else besides Red Hood, which meant that- 

You groaned. 

You didn’t want to overthink your obvious sexual attraction to Red Hood, because how could you ever face him and fight him again the next time you see him? 

***

Jason chuckled to himself as he cleaned the cum from his abdomen. 

He thought that you were hotter, sexier than he ever imagined you to be. Phase 2 of his plan was going way too easy. You were already thinking about him. 

You were thinking about Red Hood when you came. 

It was too easy. 

He shook his head and laughed. He guessed that Batman never taught you how to resist seduction. 

He chuckled again before closing his eyes. 

Too easy. 

*** 

You gagged. 

You felt bile rising from the back of your throat, your stomach feeling queasy and uneasy, as if your stomach acids were full and overflowing. Like if you were to do a handstand that very moment, all your stomach juices would come out down your oesophagus. 

 

“Robin, don’t look away,” Batman asserted next to you, “Don’t be queasy.”

You took a deep breath- wait, bad idea. It smelled like blood. 

You gulped and willed yourself to look at the three decapitated heads that were pierced by 3 pikes, spearing through the cut off neck, blood slowly dripping down the wooden stick.

The spears were driven into the wooden panels of the bar floor in a row, the warm dim light only barely illuminating the scene before you. All were male, all were brunettes. One was staring blankly at you, his pompadour messy, while the other two had their eyes shut in an expression of grimace. 

At least you were at a bar on a Saturday night. 

“If you look away, you’ll miss things,” Batman explained to you. 

Batman had tapped into the GCPD radio feed like he did so many times before, and someone had called 911, describing an armed man with a red helmet had started to attack some people at Black Bass Bar in the East End, on Murphy Avenue. The both of you were patrolling The Bowery when Batman heard the call. 

Despite rushing to the location much faster than the police department, Red Hood was already gone, leaving an empty bar with shattered glass all over the floor and three heads on pikes, their bodies dumped in the far right corner of the room.

Each body were missing every single finger except the middle. 

Now that you looked at the heads, you couldn’t stop. You felt an eerie pull towards them, an unsettling feeling of anxiety settling at the pit of your stomach. 

It was different from the mauling the Ibenescus faced at the club. Indeed, the mauling was more gruesome and the thought had disturbed you quite a bit, but you figured the adrenaline rush that Red Hood had incited that day due to the fight had prevented you from fully taking in and processing what had happened. 

Because as of now, the room was empty and quiet. You weren’t in a hurry, and you were forced to take in _everything_. 

It felt like the first time you’ve ever seen a dead body. You didn’t know why you were afraid of a cold empty shell, yet you couldn’t stop _looking_. 

You couldn’t believe that you were justifying Red Hood’s actions. You couldn’t believe that you were sexually attracted to him. This served as a reminder as who he was-

A sick, depraved human being. 

You closed your eyes at an empty attempt to try to forget the image, but it was too late. It was already seared in your mind. 

What did these people do to deserve such a cruel, undignified death-

“Hmm,” Batman hummed, making you open your eyes, “Red Hood must still have trouble with the human trafficking ring.”

“What?” you frowned. 

“Alexandru and Elias Ibenescu,” Batman pointed to the two heads from the right, “And Jarick Bucinschi.”

Right, you could see it now. 

Alexandru and Elias Ibenescu were cousins of the main 4 brothers that lead the human trafficking ring- the ones who were mauled. Jarick Bucinschi was a Slav who married into the Ibenescu family and joined the ring. 

You had read it all in the case file when the Ibenescus’ got murdered just over a week ago. You were too preoccupied with being disturbed by the heads to recognize their faces. 

From what you read in their files, these people kidnapped women and children to sell them off to disgusting people to be prostituted or harvested for organs. 

You didn’t feel sorry for them anymore. 

But that didn’t make the scene before you any less gruesome. 

There was blood smeared all over the floor, and some footprints all leading out, already oxidizing and turning into a shade of dark brown. 

“I wonder why they’re so insistent,” you voiced out, walking towards the bodies in the corner, “The others submitted to Red Hood just fine.”

Batman was bending down and looking at the heads where the neck were cut off, the sounds of police sirens from outside getting close. 

“Not everyone,” Batman answered, “It’s only been a week since Red Hood showed his dominance on the underground. These people and their families have been controlling their rings for decades. They wouldn’t submit so easily.”

“So who else?”

“Black Mask, officially. What’s left of the Ibenescu ring was supposed to submit too, but like Gordon said before, it was a massive operation with several people the Patru Frati appointed to directly work under them. The cousins must have thought that now the leaders were gone, they would be the next in line to take over,” Batman deduced. 

Patru Frati. The direct translation of ‘Four Brothers’ in Romanian.

“So what is this, a statement? A warning of sorts?” you guessed. 

“It seems so,” Batman straightened up and walked towards where you were, observing the headless bodies, “Hmm.”

“What is it?”

“Tell me what happened here,” he asked. 

A test. 

“He sliced off their heads pretty cleanly,” you pointed out, “He’s skilled with a sword, most probably a katana.”

“What else?”

“Obviously the middle finger he’s trying to show us again,” you grumbled, referring to the amputated fingers, “I don’t know if he cut them off post-mortem or not.”

“Yes, there’s too much blood from the decapitation,” Batman agreed. 

“How much do you want to bet that he did it while they were still alive, that fucking psycho,” you muttered. 

“What can you tell from the amputation?” Batman pressed. 

“That he’s mocking you, just like how he was at the docks,” you concluded.

“Jesus Christ,” a tired sigh came from behind the two of you. 

You turned to see Gordon grimace, not unlike the expressions on the heads. 

He looked at you, and then to Batman with concern, “You sure she’s not too young to see these things, Batman?”

“I’m fi-” you started. 

“She can handle anything I can,” he replied sternly. 

That made your heart swell. 

He looked at Batman through judgemental eyes, and then proceeded to walk over to the bodies. 

After a few moments, he chuckled, “How old is this guy?”

Batman gave him a glare. 

Gordon shrugged, “Just an observation.”

The forensics walked in, and immediately scowled when they saw the two of you. They were never big fans of Batman and Robin, because the two of you would arrive at locations first and “contaminated the crime scene”.

You smirked, your nerves slowly calming down the more people arrived. It made the atmosphere less eerie. 

Because the truth was, you weren’t fine. You thought that Gotham could throw anything at you, and you would be able to stomach it. 

You were wrong. 

“I trust you have the files on these three,” Batman told Gordon. 

“Yeah,” Gordon nodded, “These three were always able to get away without getting charged. I almost gave up at one point. I don’t want to say good riddance, but… well…”

“We’re done here,” Batman stated, and you started to follow behind him as he proceeded to walk out. 

“Wait,” the commissioner stopped him, “You should know that there’s a gang war brewing, according to my informant.”

“As expected,” Batman acknowledged, and walked out. 

*** 

“Did he really need to take all that time and effort to make such a statement?” your voice echoed in the Cave. 

Bruce had taken out his cowl and was sitting at his large computer table, logging the events of that night. You were standing next to him, leaning against the table with a mug of hot chocolate in your still gloved hands. 

“I mean,” you continued, “Isn’t killing them already enough of a warning?”

“You have to understand that these criminals kill on almost a daily basis,” Bruce explained without taking his eyes off the screen, “Dead bodies are part of the job. They’re desensitized to death.”

“So in order to strike fear, he has to do more than just kill,” you pieced everything together, “He has to make it look painful and... degrading.”

“Exactly,” Bruce paused typing and turned to look at you in the eye, “You did well today. Are you okay?”

“I can handle whatever you can handle,” you grinned, repeating his own words. 

“Good,” he praised, “Things will only get worse. You _will_ see worse things.”

“More so than people getting mauled by robot dogs and decapitation?” you rolled your eyes. 

“Lazlo Valentin is still in Arkham,” Batman reminded you, raising an eyebrow. 

He was right. You never had a Professor Pyg case before. From what you’ve read about him, you thanked your lucky stars. 

“Yeah,” you admitted, “And let’s hope he stays there.”

“Indeed,” he agreed, “However, it is perfectly normal for these things to keep you up at night. Will you tell me when it does?”

“I will,” you promised. 

You tossed and turned that night. 

You didn’t want to close your eyes, because you didn’t want to see the scene again. But it wasn’t any different from staring in your dark room. 

You were afraid to fall asleep, because you had just woken up from a nightmare. The heads again. This time staring at you with all of their eyes wide open, the glassy emptiness of their expression somehow pulling you in closer. 

You couldn’t stop looking at those eyes. 

The overwhelming sense of anxiety of dread drowned you, and you woke up, sweating despite the cold temperature. 

“Fuck,” you groaned, and squinted at the sudden bright light of your phone when you looked at the time. It was already 5 in the morning, the sun would be up in less than two hours. 

Thank God it was a Sunday. 

When you finally managed to fall asleep, you slept in late. It was already midday when you woke up and went down for breakfast. Bruce gave you a break from training that day, because he somehow knew that you had trouble sleeping. 

That was fine, you had another mission that day. 

Your mission was to get over your fear of mutilated bodies. 

So you sat yourself in front of your laptop on your study desk. You would have tried going to Gotham Public Library- a replacement for the one you lost- if it wasn’t for the sensitive nature of your research. 

You first went through Bruce’s files on the more gruesome cases in Gotham. He wrote very detailed description of the cases, along with pictures he snapped from the camera in his cowl. You were glad you weren’t around when some of these criminals were active. 

Most of them were in Arkham Asylum. The Joker, Lazlo Valentin, Victor Zsaz. After Jason Todd died, Bruce made sure they would never get the taste of freedom ever again- unless rehabilitated. 

We’ll see how long that lasts. They always find a way to escape. 

So the crime in Gotham were now dominated by gangsters. They were harder to charge, because they were slick and rich. Filthy rich. 

They could bribe the judge, the jury, the officers- anyone. And they had the money to hire the best lawyers, and somehow also get rid of incriminating evidence. 

Hence, the heavier crimes you saw when you started as Robin were gang related. 

You wondered for a second how Jason Todd dealt with the surplus of mentally insane criminals. He’d probably know a thing or two about brutal deaths. 

You caught yourself chuckling, and then felt immediately bad. 

Your phone buzzed.

Thinking of ex-Robins, Dick was calling you. 

“Hey,” you answered. 

“Hey, sis! You busy?” his warm voice comforted you. 

“Nah, I’m just going over some old case files,” you told him, “What’s up?”

“Can’t I call to just ask you how you’re doing?”

“You already called last week,” your voice leaked suspicion. 

“I can’t call you again?” he asked sarcastically. 

“Bruce put you up to this,” you stated. 

He paused. And then- 

“Yeah,” he confessed, “He was worried about you after… After last night.”

“I’m fine, Dick,” you sighed. 

“Well, if you’re not then you can talk to me,” he offered. 

“Actually, yeah,” you agreed, “How did you deal with it? Did it affect you?”

“The gore?” he started, “Of course it did. It was scary. I remember when I saw my first dead body. Kept me up for days.”

“Yeah, it did for me as well,” you admitted, “But then I just got… used to it, you know? But then this asshole comes and starts _mutilating_ people. I mean, the occasional amputated limb or decapitated head is one thing, but he arranged them on _spikes_!”

“Yeah, must have been a spectacle,” he said, “But, really, I know these things are part of the job and all, but it affects everyone. You shouldn’t pretend that you’re fine when you’re not. Talking to someone about it really helps.”

“Well, I’m talking to you aren’t I?” you teased. 

“I guess you are,” your brother chuckled. 

“So how did you get over it?” you inquired. 

“Well,” he began, “It really affected me, that’s for one. I always had trouble waking up for school the next day because of the nightmares, and well, thoughts. The darkness and silence really gets to you.”

“I know what you mean,” you agreed. 

“And really, I talked to people about it,” he explained, “People who knew what I was going through. And after a while, it became easier to think that you’re not the only one affected by it. Anyone normal would be.”

“And did it ever go away? The fear?”

“Eventually, it did. I kept on thinking that it doesn’t get worse than whatever that was I saw then, but oh trust me, it kept on getting worse. To the point where I just… Treated it like another case to solve,” he told you. 

“So you’re telling me to just expect the worst?” you scoffed. 

“It doesn’t sound like much, but it helps you deal with it in the mean time. When you expect something so horrible, but it ends up being not so bad as what you imagined,” he continued, “You’ll be relieved to see _just_ a decapitated head.”

A moment of comfortable silence fell between the two of you as you took everything in. 

“Hey, Dick?” you tried, “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“How did, uh, _he_ deal with it?” you winced to yourself. You didn’t like bringing up Jason Todd because of how it affected everyone around you, which was why you never really brought him up to begin with. 

You heard a long sigh. 

“He came to me as well,” Dick reminisced, “He used to call me up in the middle of the night when he couldn’t sleep. It was almost every night. He was sensitive- for a while. And then he gradually called less and less when he learned how to deal with it himself. He got braver and more confident. He was a smart kid too. Hardworking. I bet he probably did some weird cognitive therapy on himself to get over his fears. Wouldn’t be surprising.”

You felt a sudden spark of jealousy when you heard Dick talk about your predecessor in such a tone. You wondered if you were better than Jason Todd. 

That was an issue you never really figured out how to solve. 

Your constant competition with a phantom of the past. 

“I’ll have to look for that cognitive therapy then,” you lightened the mood, “Thank you for calling, Dick. Talking to you helped.”

“No problem, kid,” he assure you, “Call me if you need to talk, okay?”

“Okay.”

After that, you moved on from Bruce’s case files to documentaries and articles, some of them making you cry as you read them. 

Because the reading material you had on the Murder of Junko Furuta was only the Wikipedia page- and it was enough to make you choke back tears. You couldn’t finish reading the article. 

You wondered if you could ever be desensitized to these things. You wondered if you actually wanted to be. But what Dick said earlier resonated in you. Anyone normal would be affected by it.

Because it must take a heartless, soulless person to not blink an eye to such brutalities. 

But you couldn’t stop looking for more. 

And somewhere along the way, you started watching _videos_. 

The deep web was a scary place. The highest level of the deep web was full of depravity, the epitome of human wickedness. 

And the scariest thing? The internet we normal people surf on a daily basis, the ones that pop up on search engines, makes up only 4% of web content. The other 96% of the digital universe is on the deep web- the stuff you can’t just Google. 

Sifting through movie pirating websites and file sharing users with questionable content, you ended up watching leaked videos of beheadings and drug cartel torture. 

After a couple hours, you found yourself able to handle the disturbing images better. You were more intrigued rather than scared. 

You felt better. 

But that was because you were sitting on a chair, in the comfort of your own room. No smell of blood, no dim lights and eerie silence. 

Now you found yourself wanting to be tested again, hating the fact that by doing so, you were basically anticipating another brutal murder by Red Hood, just to prove to yourself that you had succeeded your own personal mission. 

*** 

There was a sort of an annoying buzz in the air. 

Like a mosquito that wouldn’t stop bothering you. 

You felt restless. 

It had already been more than a week since The Black Bass Bar, and it was Tuesday morning, and you were in class, and you were looking out the window, shaking your knee. You felt like your joints were aching, like right before you got a cold. The last two days had been uneventful, even during patrol. 

No sign of Red Hood whatsoever. No gang related crimes. 

It was like the underworld was holding its breath. 

Maybe even Red Hood needed his break from time to time. 

That night you went on patrol like you always did during a weekday. You were split from Batman- on your own motorbike- but not too far away from each other. You were currently in Chinatown, zooming past little alleyways to find a perfect place to park. 

It was around 11pm, yet the area was still bustling with life. The red lanterns that hung above you contributed little to the illumination of the town, because the brightness came from many chinese stalls and restaurants that were open, full of merry people drinking their beer at the array of large round outdoor tables that occupied half the street. 

As you appreciated the smell of seafood and _bak kut teh_ that wafted through the air, overpowering the usual smell of pollution, you suddenly heard a loud explosion coming from the direction you were heading to. 

You somehow knew who you were going to meet that night.

Finally, you thought. 

You were getting bored. 

You wanted to see him. He got you excited. 

But in a curious way.

The past week that you were researching criminal behavior and also brutal murders, you got intrigued by his philosophy, and you wanted to know more about how he thinks. 

You weren’t scared of him anymore. 

“Robin,” you heard Batman’s voice in your ear, as expected, “Wait for me.”

“But I’m five minutes away, Batman,” you argued, “I think it’s at that warehouse complex. I’ll circle to the loading bay.”

“Do not proceed without me, Robin,” Batman growled. 

“But by the time you reach here, he’ll get away,” you frustratedly reasoned. 

“You don’t know who it is,” Batman hissed. 

“But-”

“That’s an order,” he commanded, “Stay-”

You pressed the button in your ear, and _click_ , he was gone. 

“To hell with your orders,” you muttered to yourself and drove high speed to the loading bay of the warehouse, the lights of the town dimming behind you and a new orange light came slowly into view. 

The warehouse was old, but not run down. It was a complex that consisted of 6 blocks, and a large loading bay for trucks. Two blocks were ablaze, fire licking the wooden crates you could see from the opened metal doors. 

And there was Red Hood, who just threw in a grenade at a third opened door, and walked away from the explosion calmly towards his large, black superbike. 

You drove your bike to a halt right in front of his. 

You expected him to get on the defense, to take out his guns, to try to escape- anything. But he just leaned against his bike with his arms crossed, like he was expecting you. 

You ignored the way his biceps flexed underneath his leather jacket.

“Where’s the old man?” his scrambled voice reached your ears. 

“On the way,” you got off your bike and got into a defensive position, keeping your distance from him. 

“Hmm,” he simply said, cocking his head to the side like a curious cat. 

“Who’s warehouse is this?” you asked. 

You knew he wouldn’t do things without a reason. 

“Black Mask,” he shrugged simply, “His main armory.”

“Why did you kill the Ibenescus?” you straightforwardly asked. 

“They’re filth who refuse to work with me,” he simply answered. 

“Why did you do it in such a violent way?” you inquired. 

“As a message to others,” he replied without hesitation. 

“You tortured them alive,” you pointed out.

“So?” he scoffed, “They deserve much worse for what they do. You have no idea what they put innocent people through.”

You frowned in deep thought. 

“What’s your end goal?” you demanded. 

“Controlled crime,” he answered. 

You didn’t have time to think about his answer then, or ask him more. Batman would be there any second. 

“I’m going to have to stop you now,” you told him. 

“Oh, baby girl,” he drawled, “You can try.”

You attacked him in a low sweep kick, which he easily avoided by jumping, but the moment he was midair, you quickly got back on your feet and tackled him into his bike, causing it to fall over. 

Before you could stand, he had one hand around your neck, restricting your airflow. 

He landed a punch at your stomach, making you want to vomit. He then used his grip on you to throw you on the ground. You felt a hard blow at your ribs when he kicked you, making you cough. 

He stood over you as you scrambled to get on your feet. 

He kicked you again, and you gasped as the air escaped out of you forcefully through his blows. 

You felt his abnormal strength from his grips and kicks. Every time you tried to stand, he would kick you on the side. 

“I don’t enjoy this,” his static voice started, “Stand down.”

You struggled to roll over on your stomach to get on all fours. You secretly reached for the R shuriken on your left breast, hiding it from his view, and then turned around in a flash, throwing it at him. 

The bastard saw it coming, and he dodged it. During the one moment of distraction, you shot up on your feet and attempted to punch him. He caught your fists with a hand, and lifted his other fist. 

You waited for the blow to your face. 

But it never came. His fists were still in the air, aiming at your head, yet it never landed. You took his moment of hesitation to throw an undercut. 

You felt a small crack in his helmet when the blow connected with your gauntlet covered knuckles. 

You grinned, pleased with yourself as you watched him stumble backwards, tripping over his own bike. 

Even though he was wearing the stupid helmet, you felt him glare at you. His right arm reached for something, and then you were blinded by a white light. 

You hissed and closed your eyes, cursing at yourself for not looking away sooner before he threw the flashbang. 

You heard the sound of an engine starting, and you stumbled forward in your blind daze. 

When you finally regained your eyesight, the first thing your eyes saw was a disgruntled Batman with his arms crossed, looming over you. 

Judging from the slight downturned corner of his tightly closed lips, he was practically fuming. 

“I almost had him,” you winced, as you felt the pain from the blows you took now that your adrenaline rush was over. 

He remained silent. 

“He would have gotten away and we wouldn’t have known who it was that did this,” you tried to justify. 

Without breaking eye contact with you, Batman pointed to a CCTV that was very much still active. 

“I still think I made the right decision,” you shrugged. 

“You disobeyed a direct order,” he fumed. 

“I acted how I saw fit,” you argued, “You always say to follow your instincts-”

“Not if your instincts contradict my orders,” he retorted. 

“Wow,” you scoffed, “Just- wow.”

He didn’t say anything. 

“Well, since I’m sure you’re going to dismiss me for tonight, I’ll be heading back now,” you walked to your bike, grimacing at the pain the whole way.

“Robin,” Batman called before you could drive away, “Have Alfred check your injuries.”

You paused. 

“Okay.”

***   
“Take a deep breath and hold it,” you heard Alfred’s voice coming from the speakers in the small X-Ray room in the very far end of the cave. 

You winced and did as you were told. You heard a beep, and then breathed normally again. 

You walked out the room in a thin cotton robe and sat on a medical examination bed in the centre of the cave. 

“Well, no broken ribs or fractures,” Alfred came out, holding the X-Ray image of your thorax, “Thankfully, your injuries are merely superficial.”

“Good,” you huffed, “Still hurts, though.”

“Yes, bruises tend to hurt,” he agreed, “Any other injuries I should know of? Your head, in particular.”

“No, no head injuries,” you shook your head. He specifically did not give you any head injuries. 

“Very well, then. You are good to go,” Alfred dismissed you. 

By the time you were ready for bed, it was half past midnight. 

You admittedly felt bad for arguing with Bruce the way you did earlier. You rarely ever disobeyed him- but when you did, you would lie in bed for hours feeling guilty. 

After all, he took you in, raised you, trained you, made you who you were. And you were forever grateful for that. 

But sometimes he was just so _frustrating_. 

It was either his way or the highway. But you guessed that’s the deal with most parents. 

You sighed to yourself. You needed a distraction. You’ve been feeling anxious and restless the past few days.

You called Jason. 

“Hello?” he answered, his voice slightly breathless. 

“Hey, it’s me,” you greeted him, “Are you busy?”

“Nah, I’m good,” he said. 

“Would you like to hang out tomorrow after I finish school?” you asked, “I was thinking Robinson Park.”

“Really?” he blurted, “You’re feeling okay?”

You were taken aback. 

“Of course I am,” you replied, “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I just thought that you were busy on school days, that’s all,” he chuckled. 

“I’ve got nothing on tomorrow,” you explained, “I just feel like winding down for a bit. Take a stroll, eat ice cream.”

“Okay, then. See you at Robinson Park at…?”

“I finish at three, so I’ll be there around three twenty?” you told him. 

“Awesome! I’ll see you tomorrow at three, princess.”

“See you, Jason.”

***  
The weather was nice, considering that it was Gotham. You got lucky that it wasn’t all too gloomy that day, and there were actually birds chirping about. 

You were sitting on a bench at Robinson Park in a tank top and shorts- you took the time to change before you came- watching as joggers passed by and kids chased their dogs. Suddenly, you had an ice cream cone pushed up in front of your face. 

You looked up and saw Jason grinning, holding the cone. 

“I didn’t know what flavor you liked, so I just got this one. If you don’t like it I can go back and buy another-”

“No, no,” you insisted, taking the cone from him, “I’m fine with this. Thank you.”

He sat down next to you. He was wearing a tight light grey shirt that stretched marvelously across his chest. It was the first time you saw him wear something that showed you what he actually looked like underneath. 

His biceps reminded you of Red Hood’s flexed- 

No, stop it. What was wrong with you?

“So,” he began, “What’s up with the…”

He gestured to your knuckles, which were taped and bandaged. You had cuts and bruises that needed to be bandaged on your knuckles, due to Red Hood’s hard helmet. 

“Oh, I do MMA,” you answered smoothly, a lie that you had perfected over the years, “It’s funny, actually. I sometimes show up to school with bruises on my shoulders, or a black eye- stuff so bad that makeup couldn’t even cover it. Everyone thought my dad was abusing me.”

You let out a well practiced chuckle. 

“So you not only get injured over glass doors, but you also let yourself voluntarily get beaten up?” he laughed. 

“It’s a sport, okay!” you giggled, “I’m not too bad at it.”

“I’m not too bad at fighting, myself,” he grinned, and then licked his ice cream. 

You forced yourself to not stare at his wet lips. 

“You know martial arts?” you exclaimed, “Wait, what am I talking about? Of course you do. You’re planning to join the force.”

“Well, yes,” he said, “But I bet you’re better.”

“Are you kidding me? Look at the size of you!” you blurted.

“And there you go talking about my size again,” he feigned a hurt sigh. 

“Oh, please,” you playfully slapped his arm, “Oh, I saw a meme this morning that reminded me of you- wait, let me show you.”

“Meme?” he asked. 

You looked at him weird. 

“Yeah?” you said slowly, “Don’t you know what a meme is?”

He blinked at you. 

“Oh my god,” you gasped, “Have you been living under a rock all these years? Where were you in 2010?”

You saw him frown slightly, and clench his jaw. 

You immediately felt bad. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-” you started. 

“No, it’s fine,” he said, “It’s just that I’m not really on the internet much. No Myspace, or whatever.”

“Myspace?” you giggled, “Myspace is dead, Jason. It’s all Instagram now.”

“Well, let’s just say that living under a rock is quite an accurate statement you made,” he chuckled, yet no humour was in his eyes. 

You tried to decipher the joke, but failed. 

“Hey, wanna fight?” he changed the subject. 

“Sorry?”

“I mean, spar,” he smirked, “It would be fun.”

You paused for awhile, thinking of your injuries. They were minor and usually you would be on patrol the day right after a light beating as well, so you figured why not. 

“It’s on!” you stood up and gobbled up your ice cream, “Let’s find a nice spot.”

The two of you followed the park’s path, and settled on a flat area of soft grass a few metres down. 

“I’m gonna have to touch you places, princess,” he warned, “You okay with that?”

“Oh, you can touch me anywhere you want,” you winked back at him. 

His expression changed from excitement to a darker glint in his eye. 

You got into your usual defensive position. You figured you were just going to go easy on him. 

You went in for a right hook, which he dodged easily. And then a jab. He dodged again. You weren’t really aiming to hit him, as it was just a sparring session. 

You kinda just want to tackle him to the ground. 

So you went in for a low sweep, which he surprisingly avoided too. You frowned, thinking he was much better than you thought he was. 

“I thought you said you weren’t too bad?” he gave you a smug look. 

You narrowed your eyes at him, and then an idea popped into your head. 

You wanted to just tackle him to the ground? So that’s what you did. 

You ran head first in his direction, body bent low just like a football player, and tackled him to the ground. 

He landed with an “Oof” on his back, but before you could even think of your next step, he had his hand around your neck and flung you off of him. 

You laid on your back, letting the wet grass seep into your clothes, wide eyes and in shock. 

“Oh, shit. Are you okay? I’m so sor-” Jason approached you to help you up, but you reflexively backed away from him. 

It was illogical of you to back away from him, especially since he didn’t hurt you, but that move he made, it seemed too familiar. 

“Fuck, princess,” Jason panicked, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. You just caught me off guard and it was like a reflex. I swear, I didn’t mean to.”

You looked up at Jason’s wide, blue eyes. He was slightly sweaty, and his lips were apart, breathing heavily. He looked kind and concerned. You shook your head and laughed to yourself at your own ridiculousness. 

There was no way your Jason could be Red Hood. 

“It’s fine,” you chuckled, “I wasn’t expecting that move, that’s all. Come on, help me up.”

You held out your hand, and he pulled you up. 

“Could you help brush off the grass from my back, please?” you asked politely. 

“Yeah, sure,” he nodded and then proceeded to do as you asked. He didn’t even hesitate to brush off the grass off your butt. After he was done, he gave it a small slap, and grinned cheekily. 

“Naughty,” you eyed him, smiling. 

The two of you continued walking on the path, deciding silently not to continue sparring. You bickered and joked for around half an hour, before you needed to go back. 

“I had a good time, Jason. Thank you, I needed this,” you said. 

“No problem. You can call me anytime,” he suddenly hesitated and avoided your eye, “And uh, I’m sorry about just now. I really didn’t mean to.”

“I told you, it’s fine,” you dismissed. 

“No, it’s not fine,” he grabbed your hands and stood in front of you, close. 

So close, you could feel the warmth of his breath on your face and count the little white scars that littered his skin here and there, even some freckles, and you could see how long and thick his eyelashes were. 

“I’m really, truly sorry,” he whispered, lifting your chin up, “I would never ever hurt you, okay?”

“Okay,” you breathed, consumed by his closeness and the icy blue of his eyes. 

“I’m not a creep,” he chuckled lightly, “So you can trust me.”

“Okay,” you repeated. 

“You’re really pretty close up,” he laughed nervously. 

You hadn’t realised that the two of you were inching closer and closer together, until you felt his lips brush against yours lightly, as if he was asking you if it was okay. 

You crashed your lips against his, eliciting a small gasp of surprise from him. He tasted like vanilla and strawberries- from the ice cream he had before. 

The kiss was short and sweet- as you were in a public area. You broke it off and blushed.

“So, uh,” he panted, “I’ll see you around.”

“Yeah,” you sighed back, “I’ll see you around.”

Once you were out of his view, you squealed to yourself as you rejoiced at your first kiss.


	8. Absence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys!! Sorry for the super long wait! I've had writers block for the longest time and also life gets in the way, as usual. This one's a short one, sort of a transition into the next chapter- which will definitely be more intense! Thanks for being so patient with me as usual. Trigger warning for violence and gore.

Normal people would probably compare what you felt to some time when they were a kid, where one of their parents surprised them with some sort of wish they always had. A trip to Disneyland or that red bicycle they’ve always wanted.

Or maybe to a time where some crush said they liked them back after a confession, or even being offered a cookie by a new friend. 

Whatever it was, those were everyone else’s comparison. 

You didn’t have any great childhood memories to refer to the feeling you felt right now. But the closest would be the first time Bruce ever said “Good job” to you. 

Your first kiss wasn’t all that you expected it to be. To be fair, you didn’t really expect much from a first kiss. To you, it was all unnecessary distraction from the things that mattered. 

But Jason didn’t make you feel that way. He made you feel giddy and excited, he made you feel like you were being pulled upwards by a whole bunch of colorful helium balloons.

But then you walked inside the manor, changed into your Robin uniform, and started to approach Bruce who was at the Bat computer.

“What are you doing?” he scrutinized you. 

“I’m ready to go?” you hesitated, before mentally slapping yourself. You suddenly remembered your fall out yesterday, bursting your bubble of joy before. He was still mad at you. Of course he was, you hadn’t done anything to fix it. 

Yet you felt like you didn’t need to apologize. 

“You’re not going anywhere,” he gave you a cold look that made you feel like shrinking, “You disobeyed a direct order last night. I can’t just ignore it.”

“I went with my instinct, Bruce,” you tried to reason with him, “You always said to-”

“No, you went because you are fixated on him,” Bruce cut you off and glared at you. A look you’ve never been on the receiving end of. 

“What? What are you talking about?” you sputtered, taken aback by his remark. 

“I don’t know why, but you’re fixated on the Red Hood,” he continued, “You went and disobeyed me because you wanted to _see_ him.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Bruce,” you retorted, straightening your back into a cold stance, “You’re talking as if I have a crush on him.”

“Do you?” he demanded, “I know for a fact that you hide things from me regarding your encounters with him.”

“How dare you assume that of me, Bruce,” you coldly replied, despite the nervousness of getting caught. You needed to shift the blame to him somehow. 

“Then why?” he urged, “You have never before disobeyed me. Why do you always get excited when he’s involved?”

“I get excited because it’s exciting!” you argued, “He’s a new criminal who came out of nowhere, taking over the underground in the span of a couple of weeks! Who wouldn’t be?”

“Do you know who he is?” Bruce suddenly asked. 

“No. That’s what I’ve been asking _you_ , remember? How dare you accuse me of hiding things from you when you’re the one who refuses to trust me enough to tell me who he is,” you ranted, finding a way to finally shift the blame on him to reduce your own faults. 

“I don’t-”

“Don’t lie to me, Bruce. A guy who randomly appears and fucks shit up, knows everything about the both of us, our identities probably included- don’t tell me _you_ out of all people haven’t figured it out. So why haven’t you told me?” 

“Because I don’t want to believe it myself!” he yelled, making you jump slightly at the sudden change in volume. 

You stared at him for a few moments, before saying, “Who is he, Bruce?”

He clenched his jaw. 

“Do you want to patrol or not?”

“Yes,” you stated. 

“Fine,” he sighed, turning away from you, “But you stick by me the whole time. If he happens to appear, you stay in the Bat-mobile.”

“But-”

“Do you want me to put you under house arrest?”

“Fine,” you admitted defeat. 

*** 

You honestly thought the decapitated heads on spikes were the worst you’ve seen, and that the next bad thing would wait at least more than a week before it threw itself at you. 

But there you were, mouth slack in shock at the scene before you. 

It was a bright night in Robinson Park, coincidentally where you were earlier, the moon was full and there were no clouds blocking its gentle light. The additional lights that the GCPD brought also gave plenty of illumination that fell onto the three bodies hanging on tree branches. 

All male, all naked, all hanged by the neck with a rope. Purple faced and tongues lolling out, you were thankful for taking Dick’s advice by expecting the worst. Yet, it still shocked you. 

Because if it were just three people hanged by the neck, you wouldn’t have batted an eye. But this time, there were three people hanged by the neck, their bellies slashed open horizontally, intestines spilling out and trailed all over the well kept grass like large alien worms bursting out. 

And along with the gruesome scene, of course, came the smell. It wasn’t just the metallic smell of blood this time. It was closer to the smell at the club the first time you met Red Hood. A mix of blood and feces and urine. Thankfully, it was outdoors with plenty of ventilation.

“Batman,” Gordon huffed when he saw the two of you approaching. Batman rushed to arrive to the scene when he heard the traffic on the police radio. The crime scene was already taped off, forensics were everywhere, flashing lights from their cameras as they took pictures of the bodies. 

As you got closer, you could see in detail how the bodies looked like. The gashes were clean, you could see the layers of skin, fat, and muscle that made up the cross section of the gash. Hell, you could even see the bits of fascia and peritoneum that were damaged by the trauma. 

“Black Mask’s men,” Batman pointed out without hesitation. 

“Yeah,” Gordon sighed, “Like I said before, gang war. Red Hood himself must have done this. Looks like we’ve got another sadistic bastard running around. This was done to them while they were alive.”

You grimaced. 

“What we think is rope fibres were found underneath the nails, so they were struggling and scratching at it to escape before they got strangled to death,” Gordon continued, “We still gotta wait for forensics, but I bet my money the coroner’s report is going to confirm it. He must have had them stand on the park table here, tied the noose around their necks, gutted them, and then pushed them down. The momentum from the fall must have forced the intestines to spill like this.”

You had to hand it to Red Hood, he was very theatrical. If you weren’t so disgusted by his lack of empathy, you would have perhaps thought that his works were art. 

“How do you know it was him?” you voiced out. 

“There isn’t anyone else that have the guts to directly attack Black Mask,” Gordon explained, “I don’t think these would be the last bodies we find.”

True enough, the week after that, another two bodies were found in a similar state, but this time, you noticed the nail of one of the men’s pinky fingers were pulled out. A piece of information that you didn’t know you stored at the back of your mind came to resurface. 

When it came to torture for information by denailing, if the victim could handle getting one nail pulled out without breaking, they most probably could handle it all. The strongest ones are the ones with all their nails pulled out- which meant that they probably did not reveal anything. 

Judging from the body before you, you guessed that Red Hood probably got whatever information he was looking for. 

And if he did, why did he have to kill them both in such a way? 

Truly, you couldn’t comprehend his love for cruelty. 

You stuck with Batman on the days you patrolled, as per his orders. You weren’t allowed to go on your own anymore until you gained his trust again. Not that it mattered, because even though you were investigating a string of Red Hood’s bloody murders- he was on his twenty-third victim by then- you didn’t get to meet the culprit himself. 

He was keeping to the shadows, yet making his presence still loud and clear by leaving bodies everywhere. 

You didn’t want to admit your disappointment. 

Red Hood wasn’t the only one leaving bodies, though. Black Mask also was under investigation for retaliating by attacking and murdering Moehler’s men, though less creatively and dramatic. 

Before you realised it, Gotham City was in the midst of a gang war that Gordon had predicted those weeks ago. 

After a particularly exhausting patrol on a Saturday night involving yet another one of Red Hood’s victims, you laid on your bed, and stared at the ceiling. You glanced at your phone- no notifications. 

It had been approximately 3 weeks since your kiss with Jason, and it was the last time you saw him. He had been texting you less and less, despite it all. The last message you sent him a week ago read was just a GIF of a Shiba Inu’s backside while it walked. You didn’t want to seem desperate. 

You probably scared him off. I told you so, Mother said. 

You pushed her away like you always did. 

You tried to not overthink it. Perhaps he was busy with getting into the police force, perhaps he didn’t feel like talking to anyone, because God knows even you have long periods of time where you wanted to just shut out the world. 

You tried to be understanding and patient. 

But you still couldn’t help but think about him. His smooth voice, how sexy he sounded when he swore. His grunts and moans of pleasure over the phone. And his lips. How they felt against yours, how they would feel in between your legs. You always noticed his smell too. 

His cologne, fabric softener, the smell of leather and… fireworks. You didn’t know why. But his smell reminded you of fireworks. 

But you were restless. And Jason wasn’t the only one that was on your mind. 

You hadn’t seen Red Hood for about as long, too. It irritated you. For some reason Red Hood felt like an itch on your back that you just couldn’t reach far enough to scratch. As the nights went by without hearing from Jason, you strangely thought of Red Hood more. 

Especially at night when you were alone in bed. 

You wondered about him. Some reasonable, some completely random. Where was he from? Did he have siblings? Does he play music inside that helmet of his? He looked like the heavy metal type, but you entertained the idea of him humming along to Taylor Swift while he gutted men. 

What was wrong with you? You were unintentionally humanising him, giving him more meaning and sentimentality than he deserved. 

But most importantly, you had a feeling that he was preparing for something, in addition to the gang war he started. You didn’t have any evidence. It was just your gut. And you trusted your gut, no matter what Bruce said. 

Shit.

You started to think that Bruce was right. You felt like you were beginning to be obsessed with him. You groaned into your pillow before trying your best to fall asleep and not think about Red Hood’s flexing biceps. 

***

The familiar lurch of the batmobile going from stationary to full speed never failed to excite you to your core. 

Both you and Batman were on your usual patrol in Otisburg District, before hearing a large explosion just a few blocks away. He frequented the district a lot, since The Stacked Deck was overtaken by Red Hood, it made sense to patrol in the area. 

You wanted to patrol in the area. It meant the chances of meeting him was higher. Not that it mattered, because Batman was still keeping you on a tight leash. 

What you didn’t expect, though, was to see the club itself engulfed in flames. 

You hacked a cough the moment you exited the batmobile, the soot and smoke enveloping the area in heavy clouds. People were running in the opposite direction, away from the building. If there was anyone inside the club, it was too late to save them now. The alcohol must have contributed to the rapid burning, and somewhere along, a gas pipe must have burst, because the roof and part of the outer walls were in ruins already from the explosion you heard before. 

The fire department came. You saw the familiar face from all those weeks ago. Parks, was it? The cute one. You saw him order his men around and climbed onto the lift with a hose. You overheard someone say it was going to take them more than just a couple of hours to extinguish the fire. 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m already here,” you heard a voice behind you, “Yes, sir. No, sir. With all due respect Mr. Mayor, you don’t _just_ stop a gang war- understood, sir.”

You turned around and saw a very distressed Commissioner walking towards the two of you. He was on the phone, his other hand pressing at his temples.

“Understood sir,” he huffed, ending the call, “Batman.”

“Commissioner,” Batman nodded. 

“Of course you got here first,” he sighed, “I’ve already told my people to pull up the traffic cameras and every other CCTV nearby- which you probably already have access to. Whatever it is, I put my money that Black Mask did this.”

“Of course it is,” you rolled your eyes, not that Gordon could see them behind your white lenses. 

“Oh, I also have another update,” Gordon suddenly remembered, “Regarding the Gotham University Public Library case. According to the two we caught, there is a third. He managed to get away. Jerome Miller, 8 cases of arson, 11 attempted arson, 2 theft- but I guess it’s below your paygrade, Batman. Hey, do you even get paid?”

“Where is he now?” you interrupted, feeling your blood boil at the mention of one of the people who burned down your safe haven. 

“We put an APB on him. He’ll turn up eventually. But we have bigger things to deal with now,” Gordon explained, “Red Hood will retaliate. And soon. God have mercy on whoever he gets his hands on next.”

***  
It was hard to wish for God to have mercy on whoever Red Hood gets his hand on next, especially since the victim this time was none other than Black Mask himself, who has killed and tortured hundreds. 

But when you saw the state of Black Mask’s body, you found yourself taking back that thought. 

His mask was a feet away from his body, which was still positioned in a sitting position on his leather armchair, facing the massive window of his office building which showed the city skyline. His face? 

On his desk behind him. 

Literally. His face was skinned messily, clumsily, and then placed on the glass desk behind him in a mound of bloody flesh. Red Hood did not take his time to skin Roman Sionis’ face off, that’s for sure. 

Sionis had his neck slashed ear to ear, his carotids and jugular sliced through. 

“Did he-” you started, “Did Red Hood do this to him alive?” 

“We would need blood test results for that,” Batman said next to you, taking out a syringe to extract blood from the body. Where he kept it? You didn’t ask. You didn’t know he carried around a syringe and a vial to take blood. 

“If the forensics saw you,” you giggled. 

“Good thing they’re too slow,” Batman smirked. 

He actually smirked. 

You felt inappropriately happy, given the scene before you, but Batman had been cold to you these past few weeks. This was a step to him getting over it. 

You heard people approaching. 

“Jesus Christ!” you heard Gordon’s muffled voice behind the door. Probably counting the 31 dead security on his way up and outside. 

“Let’s go,” Batman commanded, pushing open the door right before Gordon opened it. 

“Batman-”

“I’ve got what I need,” he simply said and walked away, with you giving Gordon an apologetic smile and following behind him. 

*** 

“Positive for suxamethonium chloride,” Bruce announced from the Cave computer as you walked towards him, freshly cleaned and changed. 

“What?” you asked. 

“Roman Sionis’ blood has traces of suxamethonium chloride, a neuromuscular-blocking drug,” he explained, “Induces paralysis for about ten minutes.”

“Jesus,” you whispered, “Red Hood injected him with that, and then peeled his face off while he couldn’t move?”

“Yes.”

“And does this sucks- suxo-”

“Suxamethonium chloride,” Bruce helped you. 

“Yes, that,” you rolled your eyes, “Is it like, an anesthesia as well?”

“No,” Bruce replied, “Only a muscle relaxant. It’s used to perform quick medical interventions in emergency departments. When a muscle relaxant is induced, doctors would have the patient under a ventilator, since the diaphragm is also paralysed. But Red Hood did not have a ventilator, meaning Black Mask did not only feel the pain while he was being skinned, but was also suffocating.”

“Good thing he didn’t use a ventilator, though,” you shrugged, “At least since he couldn’t breathe, he would have passed out after a few minutes.”

“I see you have gotten used to his methods,” Bruce commented. 

“What do you mean?” you frowned. 

“You used to be more surprised after learning Red Hood’s brutal rituals,” Bruce pointed out. 

Huh. He was right. 

“I guess so,” you responded, “I would have had to get used to them eventually. Plus, it’s not like Black Mask was a saint, either. He deserved what he got.”

“We are not the ones who decides who deserves what,” Bruce reminded you. 

“Just saying,” you shrugged again, “I’m heading to bed. Night, Bruce.”

“Hmm.”

You lied in bed that night, for the first time not thinking about how brutal Red Hood was. You just wish you could see him already. The past few weeks- for some reason you felt lonely. You felt like you were being deliberately ignored by someone you wanted attention from- while they were still flaunting their presence to you. 

You _missed_ him. 

_Fuck_. 

You finally realised that you missed the fucking asshole. Were you so bored that you were now craving the sight of a criminal? 

Where was he, anyway? 

You scoffed. 

Right. Probably celebrating. With Black Mask gone, you just remembered- that Red Hood was now technically the ruler of the underworld.


	9. 5 Things

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, two chapters in one week! Don't expect this to keep this going lol! This chapter has major trigger warnings for: non-consensual acts, anxiety/panic attacks, mentions/implications of r*pe, violence, drug/sedative use.

Your head was spinning. 

Your eyes were watery, your heart palpitating. You struggled to open your eyes, but all you saw was a blur of blinding light. You saw a shadow, a movement, but it was still unclear as the light was piercing your eyes. You tried to shield them with your hand, but found that you couldn’t move it. 

You were seemingly tied to a chair. 

How did you get there?

Your throat felt dry. A wave of nausea came over you and you gagged, but nothing came out. You blinked away the tears and squinted at the figure now looming in front of you, blocking the light. 

It was all coming back to you now. 

You were walking from the Academy to the nearest metro station, heading to the public library in Old Gotham- since your usual one burned down. You had noticed a hooded man following you from behind as you turned into a secluded street.

You remember slightly panicking, because despite your training and reflexes, he was much _much_ faster than you were. The next thing you knew, you woke up right where you were. 

Your vision cleared as the cloud in your mind disappeared. 

Red Hood was looking down at you, arms crossed. This close and vulnerable, he seemed taller than you remembered. 

You also remembered that you weren’t Robin at the time. You were a spoiled girl adopted by the billionaire Bruce Wayne. 

“W-where am I?” you squeaked, “Wh-who are you?”

Red Hood simply stared. 

You tried on the ropes that he tied you with. It was tight, well knotted. You wouldn’t be able to get out of those without assistance. 

“P-please,” you quivered your bottom lip, “Please don’t hurt me.”

Silence. 

No windows. You couldn’t see a door either. The bright light almost completely blinded you to the dark room you were in.

“My dad is Bruce Wayne,” you pressed on, “He’ll give you whatever you want, just please don’t hurt me.”

You started sobbing, going hysterical in panic. 

Then, Red Hood started chuckling. “You’re not a bad actor,” he said. 

“I- I- I don’t know what you’re t-t-talking about,” you stuttered in breaths, “Please, just let me go. I won’t tell anyone, I p-pr-omise.”

“Quit the act, baby girl, you’re boring me,” he turned around and walked away from you. 

Despite your commitment to acting, you couldn’t help but notice his well sculpted ass that was on your eye level as he strutted away. 

“W-wha?” you continued, “Please, mister, I don’t know anything. Please let me go.”

Red Hood leaned against a metal table you only just noticed, “I prefer you snarky and bitchy. This isn’t fun. Quit the act before I make you.”

He was calm, as he always was. 

You did suspect that he knew your identities, but you couldn’t risk it. 

“You’ve got the wrong girl,” you wailed, “I’m not who you think I am! Please, sir, you have to believe me!”

“You know, I never asked,” he began, “How’s Nightwing?”

“N-nightwing?” you gave a watery hiccup. 

“Yes, Nightwing, your older brother, Dick Grayson, ex-Robin, Boy Wonder, et cetera et cetera,” he waved his hand, “What else must I tell you to get you to stop? Bruce Wayne is Batman? How about Barbara Gordon is Oracle? Ring any bells?”

You couldn’t help the shock that appeared on your face. If he knew about Barbara, he was more than just a crazy conspiracy theorist. You decided to drop the act. 

You gave one last sniffle and looked at him coldly, relaxing against the cool metal chair that you noticed were bolted to the cement floor.

“There she is,” he walked nearer to you again, noting your immediate change of expression when you conceded.

“He will find me, you know,” you told him. 

“I disabled the GPS tracker on your phone. Also the one in your pendant,” he nodded at the jewel around your neck that you wore every day. Bruce had gifted it to you on the first year anniversary of your adoption. It was a silver robin with a small diamond glittering on its breast. 

You didn’t even know there was a tracker on it. You mentally cursed Bruce for disguising it in a form of sentiment. 

“So what do you want, Red?” you demanded. Surprisingly, you were calm. You didn’t feel any fear. Something told you that he wouldn’t hurt you. 

“Nothing in particular,” he shrugged, “Maybe I just wanted you all to myself.” 

You scoffed. 

“What?” he bent down to meet you in the eye. You could see your own reflection on the white lenses of his mask. “Can’t I just want you? I haven’t seen you in so long. Didn’t you miss me?”

You glared at him. The fucker was mocking you. He was right about you missing him, but still. 

“Because I missed you, baby girl.”

Even with the voice scrambler, you noticed his voice had dropped an octave. You gulped, and for some reason, butterflies filled your tummy. 

He straightened up, “You look so cute in your uniform. The skirt. Which sexist pig designed it that short and made underage girls wear them?” 

He squatted down in front of you and tilted his head. “Pink? Adorable.”

You grit your teeth. You could practically hear him grin. You tried to close your thighs but your legs were tied to the chair, forcing them slightly apart. 

“Don’t tell me you kidnapped me just to tie me up and take a peek at my panties, Red,” you scowled. 

“I’ve done crazier things, baby girl,” he stood up, “What’s wrong with a little talk?”

“So. Talk,” you hissed. 

He reached out an arm towards your face. You forced yourself not to wince and maintained eye contact. He caressed your cheek with his gloved hand, his thumb trailing down to press against your lips. 

You bit it. 

“Fuck!” he recoiled, and then chuckled, “Should have expected that. I do love your feisty side anyway.”

“You don’t _know_ me, Red. Just because you know my identity, it doesn’t mean shit,” you spat. 

“I know you’re not who you pretend to be,” he gripped you by the hair and forced you to face him. The slightly rough pull made your breath hitch. “I know you try to hide it from everyone. You're not the good girl people think you are.” 

“The same could be said for every other angsty teen. Try better,” you retorted. 

He released your hair and chuckled again, “I really did miss you.‘’ 

“I’ve been busy, you see. Things to do, people to kill, the usual,” he went on, “Did you see what I left for everyone?‘’

“You mean Black Mask? Sorry to break it to you, but it wasn't much of a surprise. It was either you or him eventually,” you rolled your eyes. 

“You really are a bitch, aren’t you?” he hummed. 

“That's what you get for tying me to a chair,” you snapped. 

“You people ought to be more grateful towards me,” he stated. 

“Grateful? Really?” you condescended. 

“Black Mask was a gift,” he claimed, “Now you have one crime lord less in the streets.”

“Yet here I am tied to a chair,” you sassed. 

“Get over it, even the Bat’s done worse than this,” he chided. 

“So what makes you so different from Black Mask? You think you're better than him?” you stated. You would be lying if you said that you hadn't tried to answer that question yourself. That you didn't lie awake at night justifying his actions. 

“My, oh, my. Don't tell me you still haven't figured it out?” he mocked you, “I don't do this for any profit. In fact, I'm just like one of you.”

“You are not one of us,” you growled, “We don't kill. We're not barbaric like you are.”

“Which is why you won't ever get anywhere!” he argued, “That's what the Bat always failed to get. You can't _stop_ crime. But you can control it. Thats what I'm doing. And I take the necessary steps to achieve it. The Bat is a coward.”

“You're wrong,” you defended, “He doesn't kill not because he's a coward. It's so much more than that. A person like you would never understand.”

“A person like me, huh?” he suddenly said quietly, the direction of his gaze fell towards the side, as if he was reminiscing. The change of tone surprised you. It made you think that maybe he wasn't always bad. 

But it didn't matter who he used to be. What matters is who he is now. 

“I'll make you see eventually, you'll understand soon enough,” he squatted down in front of you again, “but for now, let's talk about us.”

“Us?” you raised an eyebrow. 

“Yes, baby girl, us. Don't you feel like there's something between us? I feel like there's a spark,” he adopted his tone of mocking again. 

“Fuck off,” you snarled.

“I'd be lying if I said I don't think of you as I lie in bed, touching myself. You'd be lying if you said the same right?” he put his gloved hands on your bare thighs. You could feel his heat beneath the leather. 

You'd be lying if you said that didn't excite you just a little bit. 

“You're too full of yourself,” you responded, “And I happen to have a boyfriend. You're the only pervert here.” 

You obviously lied about the boyfriend part. You wanted to seem like you had other things better to do than think of him. 

Which, for some reason, seemed even more pathetic. 

“Boyfriend?” he laughed, “So what? I bet that doesn't stop you from thinking of me.” 

His hands slid up your thighs slowly, bunching up your skirt in the process.

“What are you doing?” your voice went high, “Stop that.” 

“When was the last time you told a bad guy to stop and he actually did?” he asked. 

He had a point. 

Still, you didn't like the way that he didn't disgust you. You didn't like the way that he made you want him to go further up. 

And further up he went. 

Until he paused at the crease of your thighs, and then suddenly pressed a thumb on top of your clit. A jolt of pleasure shot through you. 

“Stop it,” you repeated. 

He ignored you again, this time pulling aside your panties and ran his middle finger up in between your lips. The middle finger you’ve thought about countless of times. 

With the same thick finger, he pushed inside you slowly, all the way to his knuckles. You felt yourself automatically squeezing around him. You bit your lip.

He started sliding it out, and then back in again. It felt so different, having someone else's finger inside you. 

Having _his_ finger inside you. 

Then, he curled his finger, hitting a spot inside you that you've never touched before, eliciting a soft moan from you. 

Your eyes widen when you realised what you just did, and you turned your head away, blushing. 

With that, he took his finger out, and then stood up. His crotch was at your eye level, and you could see his hard on straining against his pants. You didn't realise that your mouth watered at it. 

“If only you wore skirts as part of your uniform, we could do that again whenever we meet,” he taunted you. 

He didn't comment on your moan, nor the wetness that was left on his finger. Instead, he took off his glove and walked towards the table. His back was towards you now, and you couldn't tell what he was doing. You heard a rustle of plastic. He came back with a piece of black cloth from it and walked behind you. 

Suddenly, you saw darkness. You began to struggle as he tied the blindfold, but his grip was too strong. 

“What the fuck are you doing?!” you yelled. 

“Relax, I'm blindfolding you so I can take off this stupid helmet,” you heard him say, and then you heard a heavy _thump_ on the floor next to you. 

“You motivate me, you know?” you heard him breathe in your ear, causing the hairs on the back of your neck to stand. He masked his voice similar to the way Batman did- it was raspy and gravelly. That close, you could smell him. He smelled like sweat, and leather, and gunpowder. 

“You make me want to kill more and more,” he nipped your earlobe, “I killed someone for you, you know that? Did I get a thanks? Of course not.”

“What the hell are you on about?” you snarled.

“Fuck, you drive me insane,” he continued, ignoring your question. He used a hand to grip your hair and pull your head to the side, exposing your neck so he could lick a strip on your pulse. He then started sucking on your skin. “I’ve always wanted to mark you like this.”

You felt hot. You were panting, and the worst part was that you could feel yourself dampening your underwear more than before.

His other hand ripped your shirt open, buttons popping all over the floor. He pushed your bra upwards and grabbed a fist full of your right breast, squeezing hard. 

“Mmm,” he moaned, “Finally, I get to feel them. You usually wear too much armor.” 

You felt dizzy, hazy, blurry. You were utterly consumed by his heat. You tried so hard not to get turned on, but your body betrayed you. 

“Tell me, why do you wear lip gloss while on patrol?” he continued sucking on another spot while he started rolling your nipples in between his fingers, “It makes me wonder how your lips would look like around me.” 

You whimpered, and cursed internally. Who knew dirty talk would be your downfall. 

“I knew you'd like this,” he chuckled at your reaction, “But I feel like you need a reminder of how scary I can actually be.” 

You didn't need one. You knew how terrifying Red Hood was. You felt that fear the first time you met him, and again when he pointed the gun at you in that alley behind the bank. It seemed so long ago. 

But that fear had long turned into curiosity. You weren't afraid anymore.

“Black Mask couldn't beg,” he rasped, “Because he was suffocating. I wonder what I should do to you.” 

His hand went from your tits to around your neck. And then, _and then_ , you felt it. The panic you felt the first time he got his hand around your neck. 

You started thrashing about, anything to prevent him from getting a proper grip on you. But unfortunately, you were tied down. 

And he was standing behind you, strong hands around your neck. 

“Remember this, baby girl?” he started squeezing, “Doesn't this feel nostalgic?” 

He was pressing on your carotid arteries, making you even dizzier than you already were, but you could still gasp for breath. 

“I still have a syringe of what I gave Black Mask to paralyse him, I wonder what I should do to you?” he then suddenly released you, making you cough and gag, tears streaming down your face. 

“I wouldn't want to ruin that pretty face,” you heard his voice move in front of you, “Maybe I should just keep you here to myself and _use_ you. This job gets stressful. You'd be my own personal fuck toy. I'd ruin your cunt over and over again. You want that?” 

Your mind began to race. Would he actually do that? No. No, even if he did, it didn't matter. Because Batman will- 

“And then you will know how Batman really is,” he stressed, “You'll cling on to the hope that he's out there looking for you. That he won't give up on you. Batman would be the only thing keeping you sane.” 

Yes, yes he was right. Bruce would find you. 

“But you know what he’ll do instead?” he continued, voice shaking in evident anger, “He will just forget about you. Even after you're dead and he catches me, all he’ll do is lock me up behind bars. And then he’ll replace you with another child soldier to brainwash.” 

No. Bruce wouldn't do that. He loved you. He wouldn't give up. He wouldn't move on. 

Would he? 

Panic started to rise again, you felt yourself hyperventilating for the first time. What was wrong with you? You couldn't break down just after being kidnapped. Why would you feel this sense of impending doom? 

No, it's just Red Hood getting to you. You were just giving him what he wants. 

“That's more like the reaction I was looking for,” you heard him growl. You flinched when you felt his hand on your cheek. He was wiping away at your tears, and he was surprisingly gentle. 

“There, there,” he sighed, “I’m not going to do that to you. I don't hurt innocents. Though you're far from it.” 

You tried to calm yourself down. He was just looking for a reaction? 

“I just want you to see Bruce for who he really is, baby girl,” he explained, still caressing your cheek. You found yourself leaning into his warmth, “And I want you to see me for who I really am, and what I've been doing for Gotham.” 

Before you could even think of responding, you felt something spray on your face, and then everything faded to black. 

*** 

The first thing you noticed was an annoying beeping sound. 

And hushed whispers. 

You opened your eyes, blinking away the grogginess. You were on a bed that wasn’t your own, in a room that was unfamiliar. 

A hospital room. Private, high end. You tried to prop yourself up, suddenly- 

“No, no, lie back down, honey,” an aging woman pushed you gently back into the pillows, where you laid back reclined. “I’ll go get the doctor and your father for you.”

Shortly after, in came Bruce, who rushed to you immediately. 

“How are you feeling? Are you okay? What happened?” he bombarded you with questions and more than just his usual serious look on his face. 

“I-”

“Mr. Wayne, please,” said a man in a white coat behind him, “She needs to recover first.”

“Yes, yes, of course. I’m sorry,” Bruce stepped back and cleared his throat.

You were taken aback. You’ve never seen Bruce this way before. 

The doctor flashed his penlight in both your eyes, and told you to follow it. He then performed a thorax auscultation on you. 

“Hello, Miss Wayne. I’m Dr. Kevins. I’m going to have to check several things to make sure you’re doing well. Is that okay?”

You nodded. 

“Do you feel dizzy?” he asked you, “Does your head hurt?”

“I feel a bit nauseated actually,” you croaked, “And thirsty.”

“We’ll get you some water just a sec,” he smiled kindly. He looked like he was around his late forties, with greying hair and sunken eyes. “The nausea is probably caused by the sedative he used on you. It’ll go away in an hour or so. But most importantly, do you feel any pain anywhere else?”

“No,” you shook your head, “My neck is a bit sore, but that’s it.”

The doctor pursed his lips, and then looked at Bruce, “Excuse me, Mr. Wayne, but would you please step outside for a moment?”

“Why?” he protested. 

“It’s okay, doctor,” you voiced, “I know what you’re going to ask me. No, my genitalia does not hurt. He didn’t do anything to me.”

“Okay then,” he sighed a breath of relief, “We did a physical on you while you were unconscious. It doesn’t look like anything’s wrong, except for a little dehydration. We just wanted to make sure.”

“Cool,” you shrugged, “Can someone tell me what happened?” 

“We found you unconscious outside our emergency room on the floor,” the doctor responded, “We checked the security footage and saw a man in a red helmet walk in and left you there. He is a wanted criminal. The police are right outside to ask you a few questions. If you’re not ready for that, I’ll make them wait.”

“I’m fine, you can call them in,” you told him. 

The doctor left to get the cops, and you and Bruce shared a long eye contact, silently communicating. _I’ll tell you everything later_ , you tried to convey. 

He gave you a stiff nod. 

“Mr. Wayne, Miss Wayne,” Gordon himself came in through the door, “How are you feeling?”

“Like I’m hungover, Commissioner,” you smiled. 

“I’m going to ignore that, since you’re underaged,” he chuckled, “Can I ask you a few questions?”

“Shoot.”

He took out a pen and a small notebook from his trench coat.

“What was the last thing you remember before you blacked out?” he began. 

“I was walking to the metro station,” you explained, “It was around two in the afternoon. I noticed someone following me, but didn’t think much of it. I remember turning into a secluded area, and then I heard him running towards me. Before I could turn around, I just… Went black. It happened so fast.”

“And this man, what did he look like?” 

“He was big. Maybe around Bruce’s size, but I can’t be sure. I couldn’t see his face. He was wearing a baseball cap and had a hoodie on,” you struggled to remember any other details about the man behind the mask. 

“What happened next?”

“I woke up in a dark room, with this really bright light shining at me. I couldn’t see any windows, or doors. I was tied to a chair,” you pretended to tremble, “I was so scared.”

“I know, Miss Wayne,” Gordon comforted you, “I’m sorry for doing this, but I absolutely have to ask you to recall everything, before you forget. It’s essential to catch the man responsible for this.”

“I know,” you wiped away a single tear, “It’s okay. I saw a man in a red helmet. But not like a motorcycle helmet. It covered his whole face. And it had white eyes. It looked weird.”

“Did he have a red bat symbol on his chest?” Gordon pressed. 

“Uhm,” you bit your lip, “I think so. I can’t- I can’t be too sure. It was dark, and the light blinded me.”

“That’s okay, you’re doing real good Miss Wayne,” Gordon smiled. 

You held back a smile at how well Gordon treated you. If only he knew you were the same girl who witnessed Black Mask’s peeled face. 

“I- I’m not sure what he wanted,” you stuttered, “He t-touched me. But not there!”

You had to reveal it. There was no hiding it from Bruce this time, thanks to the probable hickies on your neck. 

“He… I think he didn’t know who I was,” you invented your lie, “But when I told him I was Bruce Wayne’s daughter, he immediately stopped whatever he was doing. Maybe he didn’t want to mess with Bruce, since he’s… rich and all.”

“There’s no doubt your father is rich, Miss Wayne, but I don’t think something like that would stop him,” Gordon huffed, his forehead scrunched up in a frown deeper than before, “This is interesting. Why would he be scared of you, Mr. Wayne?”

“Maybe he thinks I’m Batman,” Bruce simply shrugged. 

You coughed out loud in shock. 

“Well, he wouldn’t be the first person out there,” Gordon smirked, “No offense, Bruce, but you’re hardly the crime fighting type.”

“None taken, Jim,” Bruce grinned, “I can’t afford to get my face injured. It’s what gets investors after all.”

“What happened after that?” Gordon rolled his eyes at Bruce and turned back to you. “Did you hear any sounds? Maybe water, or vehicles? Was there anyone else there?”

“Th- that’s all I remember,” you scratched your head, “Next thing I knew, I was here.”

“Okay,” Gordon closed his notepad, “Thank you, Miss Wayne. I’m sorry that something like this happened to you. This one’s a bit tricky but I promise we’ll catch him.”

“I don’t doubt it, Commissioner,” you have him a big grin. 

He paused for a moment, suddenly staring at you with an intense look in your eyes, as if he was searching for something. 

“What’s wrong?” your smile faltered. 

“No- nothing,” he shook his head, “You just- remind me of someone.”

“Your beautiful daughter perhaps?” you suggested. 

“Y- yeah,” he nodded slowly, “Yeah, that’s it. You and Barbara both have the same smile.”

“What a compliment,” you giggled. 

“You get well soon, Miss Wayne,” he nodded at you and at Bruce, “Mr. Wayne.”

“Commissioner,” Bruce nodded back. 

Gordon left. 

“That was close,” you breathed a sigh of relief. 

Bruce pulled the sofa nearer to your bed. 

“Are you really okay?” he asked. 

“Yeah,” you said, “Just tired.”

“I’ll let you rest. We’ll talk when we get back,” Bruce got up to leave. 

“Where are you going?”

“To deal with the press,” he fixed his hair and tie at the glass window, reflecting his handsome face, “Bruce Wayne’s daughter missing for 24 hours and then found on the emergency room floor? The media is going crazy.”

“I bet,” you took a deep breath and closed your eyes, drifting to sleep once more. 

You thought you felt a pair of lips press themselves on your forehead. 

***   
“So. What really happened?” Bruce asked once you settled down in the manor.

You finally got discharged from the hospital after another day they kept you under observation. The both of you were now in the dining room, finishing up a light dinner. 

You put down your cutlery and took a deep breath. 

“How he got me was the truth, and I woke up in a dark room with a bright light shining in my eyes. First I acted like a civilian, crying and begging. I told him that my father was Bruce Wayne and that he would give him anything for my release,” you began your story, “But he told me to drop the act. I didn't. I acted dumb. And then he asked me how Nightwing was. How _Dick Grayson_ , my older brother was. He told me he knew you were Batman. But what really hit the jackpot, was the fact that he knew Barbara was Oracle.”

Bruce leaned forward in his chair, elbows resting on the table, his chin on top of his knuckles.

“So I decided to drop it,” you continued, “I figured if he knew that, he was more than just… One of those crazy conspiracy theorists. Anyway, I asked him what he wanted and he… He was just playing around.” 

“Playing around?” 

“Yeah, like he wasn't being serious about it. Like he kidnapped me just to mock me. He told me that… He missed me,” you avoided eye contact with Bruce, “He also said something about how we should appreciate what he does for Gotham. That he was technically one of us.” 

“Hmm.” 

“Yeah, exactly my thought,” you agreed, “He has this delusion that he's doing good, more good than we are. He mentioned Black Mask, and how he was a gift. Because now there's one less crime lord in the streets. I told him that he's not like us. We don't kill. And then- and then he got a bit emotional.” 

“How so?” 

“Well, the whole time he was relatively calm. But when we got to the topic of you,” you hesitated, “He seemed frustrated. He said it's the one thing you will never get. He said that you can't stop crime, and you can only control it. And that's what he was doing.” 

“He thinks he is controlling crime?” 

“Yes,” you nodded. 

“And what about… All that,” Bruce gestured to his own neck instead of yours. 

You thought of how he touched you, how he had his hands underneath your panties and put his finger inside you. You decided to leave that out.

“He came up behind me and blindfolded me,” you started blushing, “He took off his helmet and-”

“He took off his helmet?” Bruce looked at you, the creases in between his eyebrows deepening, his shoulders suddenly tense. 

“Yes, but I couldn't see anything,” you told him, “I was blindfolded.”

You noticed how Bruce relaxed his shoulders- very slightly. 

“He said I motivated him,” you continued, “He masked his voice- like how you always do. I didn't recognise it.” 

“Go on.” 

“He said he killed for me,” you frowned, now remembering that odd statement he made, “I don't know what he meant by that. He never clarified. And then- he started to- do _this_.” 

You waved at your neck, still avoiding eye contact. 

“And then he started choking me,” you quickly went on, “He said he was considering keeping me there and… Tormenting me. And that the only thing that would keep me sane is the thought of you coming for me. But then he said that you wouldn't. That you would just… Replace me.” 

You glanced at Bruce now, who was just silent, absorbing in everything you were saying. There was on odd expression in his eyes. Was it sadness?

“The last thing he said to me was that he wanted me to see you for who you really are, and see him for who he really is and what he's doing for Gotham.” 

You waited for a response. 

Finally, Bruce said “I see.” 

Very anticlimactic. 

“What do you see?” you prompted. 

“It's even clearer now that he targeted you to get to me. He's trying to turn you against me,” Bruce spoke. 

“I think I got that already,” you rolled your eyes, “But why? And what's this about replacing me?” 

He remained silent, staring into space. 

“Bruce,” you began, “We’ve been through this. You need to tell me things.” 

“There's nothing to tell.” 

“There's obviously something to tell,” you argued, “I just got kidnapped by him! Isn't it time for you to tell me who he is?” 

“I don't know who he is,” he insisted. 

“That's a big fat lie and you know it,” you accused. 

“I'm lying for your own good!” he started to raise his voice. 

“My own- my own good?” you scoffed, and then stood up, “Haven't you been paying attention, Bruce? I. Got. Kidnapped. By. Him. Obviously keeping me in the dark is _not _helping.”__

__“Back down,” Bruce rose from his seat as well to tower over you, “Now.”_ _

__“Don't you care about me Bruce?!” you yelled_ _

__“Of course I care! Which is why-”_ _

__“Don't give me that bullshit!” you fumed, “You keep on telling me to trust you-”_ _

__“I said back down, Robin-”_ _

__“But trust goes both wa-”_ _

__“BACK DOWN, JASON!”_ _

__You gaped at him, not believing your ears. You've always been insecure. You always thought that Bruce either adopted you out of guilt, or worse._ _

__As a replacement._ _

__It was the first time he ever mistakenly called you _him_. _ _

__The ghost of Jason Todd had caught up to you._ _

__“I mean- I meant-” Bruce tried to correct himself, horrified at what he had just said._ _

__You turned and left._ _

__***_ _

__He was tired._ _

__Jason was tired._ _

__The rain made his bones ache._ _

__The past few weeks had taken a toll on him. He went out almost every single night to do his job- be it kill a few people, extract information, deal with Moehler’s international contacts, and also deal with the people under him who has broken rules or planned to start a coup. They thought he didn't know. He’ll deal with them later._ _

__He had gotten back from his money collecting run, taking the profits from the people beneath him. Through whispers and some interrogating, he found out about some insignificant rebels. He really wasn’t in the mood to deal with those now._ _

__He took a shower, and laid naked in bed, splayed on his back._ _

__He probably should put on some clothes. It was getting cold._ _

__Though, he was used to it._ _

__There were so many times when he was a kid living in the streets that he had to deal with the cold without much insulation. Even when he had a roof over his head, it wasn’t like his parents paid for a heater._ _

__Parents._ _

__The reason why he became Robin was because his parents were bad. The reason why he died was because his biological mother betrayed him. And the reason why he was who he is now-_ _

__No. Bruce was never a father to him. He refused to admit it._ _

__Bruce was just looking for a soldier to brainwash._ _

__A soldier like you. He had brainwashed you pretty well. Jason wondered what words of encouragement Bruce had given to you, that he probably gave Jason as well, all those years ago._ _

__When Jason saw you start to panic, he knew. He knew that you knew deep down, Jason was right. Which meant that Bruce probably had not changed since Jason died._ _

__Did Bruce ever tell you “good job”? Did Bruce ever fuss over your injuries? Did Bruce ever gave you affection?_ _

__He doubted it._ _

__After all, Jason knew Bruce. The only thing Bruce cared about was his past._ _

___Justice_. _ _

__Or so Bruce liked to call his own insecurities, an excuse to not move on from the traumatic childhood he faced._ _

__Bruce was the fucked up one here, not Jason._ _

__Jason was perfectly sane._ _

__Not that he cared about how Bruce raised you. Not that he cared that you were probably facing the same problems he did, all those years ago. After all, Jason was just using you to get to him. He knew what he was doing was obvious, but it didn’t matter._ _

__It only took one trigger- and you would spiral. As long as you had any doubt about Bruce, Jason’s plan would work._ _

__“Fuck,” he said out loud. The rain outside was hitting hard like pellets on his metal roof._ _

__Jason was tired._ _

__He closed his eyes, and remembered how you looked when he started touching you. How your breath hitched, how your voice went high, how you let out the tiniest moan._ _

__Jason smirked to himself._ _

__You were probably craving him all those weeks you didn’t meet- it was part of his plan after all. And the moment he gave you all the attention you wanted, you got _wet_. _ _

__Withdraw, and then attack._ _

__It was an excellent strategy. To get you to miss him so much that you welcomed his touch._ _

__And welcome him you did._ _

__Jason wasn’t blind. He saw how you looked at his hard on straining against his pants._ _

__Remembering those scenes again made blood shoot to his cock. He remembered finally being able to feel your tits._ _

___Fuck_. _ _

__He reached down and fisted his cock- now hard and leaking. He gave himself a few light strokes, remembering how much he wanted to fuck you right then and there._ _

__The glove._ _

__He opened his eyes and walked towards his backpack, his erection slapping his lower belly with every step, and took out the ziplock he had put his glove in. He took it out, and collapsed on the bed again._ _

__He was wearing the glove when he fingered you._ _

__He took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of the glove._ _

__The smell of leather was overpowering, but faintly, he smelled you. He kept it in a ziplock bag for a reason._ _

__It was equivalent to panty sniffing, and Jason thought about how absolutely pathetic he was being- but he couldn’t bring himself to care._ _

__Because you always drove him insane anyway._ _

__His cock was leaking on his stomach, and he stroked himself to the faint sweet tangy smell of your juices on his glove. Maybe he should have taken a _taste_ instead. _ _

__Would that have driven you wild as much as it would him?_ _

__God, and your tits. It was so soft, so supple, and it was spilling in his hand. He just wanted to see it bounce. Why must you wear so much armor?_ _

__Jason was sweating now despite the cold, the sound of rain outside drowning his pants and moans._ _

__He wouldn’t call it backfire, but Jason’s plan to not see you for so long also affected him more than he thought it would._ _

__He stroked himself faster, and squeezed himself tighter, imagining your mouth drooling over the head of his cock._ _

___Fuck_. He told you your lip gloss made him think of that, didn’t he? And what did you do? You fucking _whimpered_. _ _

__“Fuck,” Jason groaned. He loved how much you liked it when he talked dirty to you. He loved how you tightened around his finger._ _

__Pleasure and heat built up and spread, making his toes curl. Finally, he came all over his fist, spilling onto his abdomen._ _

__He huffed._ _

__After cleaning up, he decided to text you. It was about time anyway._ _

___Hey, Princess. I'm sorry I haven't texted you in so long. Life just got in the way, and I was facing some personal issues. I hope you're not mad. Anyway, I read about what happened in the papers. Putting the fact that you didn't tell me you were THE Wayne kid aside, are you okay?_ he sent the text. _ _

__He was hoping to prey on your kindness and understanding._ _

__And he saw you typing back almost immediately._ _

___Hey, Jason. Don't worry, I'm not mad. I completely understand. I've had times like that too. And I'm okay, a bit shaken up, but still okay. Also, you didn't tell me your last name so why would I tell you yours?_ you replied with a winky face at the end. _ _

___Touché. Would you be up to meeting me at Robinson Park tomorrow? I'll get you ice cream. It’s the least I could do,_ he asked. _ _

___That would be great! I’ll see you around three? _you texted back.__ _ _

_____It’s a date, doll_ , Jason sent with another winky face. _ _ _ _

____He knew that one text would make you giddy with excitement._ _ _ _

____***  
Jason was self-conscious in public. _ _ _ _

____Whenever he walked in the daylight without his helmet on, he felt like everyone was staring at him, judging him. His scars, his scowl, his crooked nose that had been broken and reset again so many times._ _ _ _

____So he usually kept his head down, and his calloused hands in his pockets, avoiding the glares he knew deep down was just part of his imagination._ _ _ _

____Until he saw you waiting at the park bench wearing a white sundress, the slight breeze blowing your hair, the sunlight shining on your skin._ _ _ _

____He straightened up, confidence returning, and even before you saw him, he smiled._ _ _ _

____It wasn’t like you made him happy, it wasn’t like he was looking forward to seeing you. Nor was it because you made him feel like the Jason Todd who never died._ _ _ _

____No, he was just getting into character in advance._ _ _ _

____A character to fool you, manipulate you, corrupt you._ _ _ _

____“So, do you come here often?” he said when he crept up to you, making you jump._ _ _ _

____“You scared me!” you laughed, slapping him on the arm lightly. And then, your smile faded ever so slightly, and a slight crease between your brows formed, “Not many people can sneak up on me like that.”_ _ _ _

____“My friends always did say I was light on my feet,” he shrugged, sitting down on the bench next to you, “Could be useful in the force, actually.”_ _ _ _

____“Definitely,” you grinned._ _ _ _

____He noticed the bruises he left on your neck were absent- probably hidden by layers of makeup. He was slightly disappointed. His hickies on your skin would have looked amazing as a contrast to the low cut sundress you were wearing._ _ _ _

____“So how are you?” he asked, “ _Wayne_?”_ _ _ _

____You rolled your eyes, “Like I said, you didn’t offer me your last name, too. Plus, my picture’s everywhere.”_ _ _ _

____“I don’t really keep up with the news, sweetheart,” Jason replied, “Why would I care about other people’s adopted daughters?”_ _ _ _

____“I guess that’s true,” you conceded, “You’re one in a million, then. Everyone’s obsessed with that kind of information these days.”_ _ _ _

____“So enlighten me then,” Jason said, “How did Bruce Wayne come to adopt you?”_ _ _ _

____“Well,” you started, “My parents have always been trying to get close to him. They invited him for those fancy galas and charity dinners. I remember always seeing him around. When they died, and I was left with nothing and no one, he decided to adopt me.”_ _ _ _

____“Any particular reason he chose to adopt you?” Jason prompted._ _ _ _

____You bit your lip. And then, Jason noticed that your eyes started tearing up._ _ _ _

____“Oh, no,” Jason responded, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry. We don’t have to talk about it.”_ _ _ _

____What was up with you?_ _ _ _

____“No, no,” you sniffed, wiping away your tears with the back of your hand, “I’m the one who’s sorry. I’m so stupid. I’ve just… been wondering about that too.”_ _ _ _

____Finally, Jason thought. He thought you would never have figured out you were always meant to be his replacement. He wondered what happened between you and Bruce. He had no doubt that the kidnapping triggered it._ _ _ _

____Just as he planned._ _ _ _

____“Hey, look at me,” he took your chin in his hand and tilted your head to face him._ _ _ _

____Fuck._ _ _ _

____It was the wrong move. Because seeing you teary eyed, red nosed, lower lip trembling, so close to him. So vulnerable._ _ _ _

____It made his cock twitch._ _ _ _

____“We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” Jason tried to pull himself together, “Or if you just want a shoulder to cry on, I’ll gladly offer you mine.”_ _ _ _

____With his thumb, he wiped away a tear that fell on your cheeks. He could see how your long lashes clumped together in the wetness, how your skin was slightly flushed._ _ _ _

____He wanted to kiss you and tell you everything was going to be okay._ _ _ _

____The thought shocked Jason. So much so that he jolted away from you._ _ _ _

____“I- I’m sorry,” Jason sputtered, “I probably crossed a line, or something.”_ _ _ _

____He looked away, not wanting you to see the panic that was rising. No, no, not here. Not now._ _ _ _

____“It’s okay,” he heard your voice, but it seemed so far away, “Jason?”_ _ _ _

____He tried to calm his breathing. He fisted the material of his jeans and took deep breaths. 5 things that he could see._ _ _ _

____The green grass. The blue sky. Someone’s red frisbee flying. Little yellow flowers. Kids running around._ _ _ _

____4 things that he could touch._ _ _ _

____His denim. The wooden bench. The gravel beneath his feet. Your warm hands._ _ _ _

____3 things that he could hear._ _ _ _

____A dog barking. The bells from the ice cream man. Your voice calling him out, getting nearer._ _ _ _

____2 things he could smell._ _ _ _

____His own cologne. And your shampoo._ _ _ _

____1 thing he could taste._ _ _ _

____He turned to face you and crashed his lips against yours, surprising you. But Jason felt you relax against him, and kissed him back._ _ _ _

____Your lip gloss was strawberry flavoured._ _ _ _

____Jason broke the kiss, and blushed at you, “I’m sorry. I never know how to act when I’m with you.”_ _ _ _

____He saw you take the bait. Your wide, curious eyes fluttered downwards in embarrassment._ _ _ _

____“That’s okay,” you tucked your hair behind your ear, “I feel the same way.”_ _ _ _

____“I promised you ice cream didn’t I?” he stood up, and offered you his hand, “Shall we?”_ _ _ _


End file.
